


Triangulation

by Carcosa



Series: Witchering [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Bad Poetry, Bizarre Love Triangle, Confrontations, Dark Magic, Drunk Sex, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geraskier, Hook-Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Life Choices, Psychological Warfare, Smut, So what could possibly go wrong?, Yenn and Jaskier are proper mad at him, Yenn and Jaskier are young free and single, Yenralt, geraskefer, whisky, yenskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 65,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22402480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carcosa/pseuds/Carcosa
Summary: It’s not easy being a witcher in love – and it’s not easy being a witcher’s beloved either: just ask Yenn and Jaskier. After their time in King Niedamir’s mountains, both of them have their reasons to be hating on Geralt of Rivia – but is it really any more than they hate on each other?After all, whatever would happen if the vengeful sorceress and philandering musician decided they have more in common than they once thought? Misery makes for strange bedfellows, and the enemy of my enemy is a potential hot hookup, isn’t that right...?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witchering [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612315
Comments: 197
Kudos: 285





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, thanks for clicking on this fic!
> 
> This story is actually a continuation of a plotline I wrote over Christmas called Bewitchered (although any backstory elements should be clear enough here, so you don’t need to read it or anything). Like everyone else, I bingewatched the Netflix season 1 and was craving more witchery action so I wrote a bit of a post-Episode-5 Geralt/Jaskier romance – but sadly I couldn’t quite square the circle in that fic and Jaskier did not ultimately end up with his man. But that is no way to end things between this pair! We all deserve a nice happy ending and not even Yennefer of Vengerberg would stand in the way of Geralt and his real destiny :)
> 
> Here and now, we join our unhappy trio at the end of Episode 6, after their dragon-quest escapades and Geralt’s rows with the only two people on the whole Continent who actually care about him. I don’t know how you guys deal with rejection – but if I was either Yenn or Jaskier I would head straight to the nearest pub and drown my sorrows with exotically-labelled whiskies and unsuitable pairings, so that is the level of logic we are operating on here...

The heat of the sun was fading now, with a misty shimmer creeping over the blue shadows on the high and desolate hills.

A cooling breeze whispered to the grasses from the valley, warning that nightfall would come soon. It urged that all warm blooded creatures should find shelter while the sunshine still reigned – for when the kingdom of darkness descended the cold would be bitter, and long.

But the witcher was heedless of such cares.

He sat back against his rock, studying the clouds – staring intently at them as if their wispy forms could offer up solutions from the heavens above. Or at least dissolve the cares of his heart enough to let him stand, and find some place to go for the night. Roach would still be waiting for him back at the inn – and he should find her before some urchin tried to steal her away and ended up with broken ribs and cracked teeth.

But still the witcher sat there, unmoving.

His logic was simple, and compelling. There was only one pathway down the mountain after all. And if he departed for the inn now, it was almost certain that he’d run into either Yenn or Jaskier. Or – horror of horrors – both of them in turn.

He could see their faces in every cloud he examined – angry and hurt.

Betrayed – by him. And gone now.

Just like everyone else he’d ever loved.

He knew what he wanted to do, but he couldn’t make himself do it. If he ran to find them, who knew what would happen? Who knew what other terrible things might be said, and how much more pain and heartache it would cause – for them, for him.

Yenn would still be mad at him. She thought she’d been manipulated – and used. And there was nothing he could do to take that anger away. Nothing he could tell her, nothing he could show her – nothing he could offer her now, because she’d slammed the door on him and wouldn’t listen to reason. She wouldn’t listen to him. She never listened to anyone, anyway – but right now that self-righteous rage would make her dangerous. To herself. To him. To innocent bystanders.

And really – the only thing that he would gain by talking to her was another argument – another fight – as her pride found ways to rile him, insult him, undermine him – and awaken the lingering doubt that he now felt.

But what was he supposed to have done? He’d saved her life. Would she have rather died? Was loving him really a fate worse than death?

It was all so unfair – the woman was utterly impossible. She drove him to despair.

So why had he chosen to curse himself with loving her?

He knew, deep down, the real reason. And perhaps Yenn did too – for she was no fool.

Maybe that was why she was so angry with him. And why he was now so angry with everyone else. Because he knew that she was right to be angry, and if he admitted that – then what did that make him?

He closed his eyes, intent on projecting the rage he felt outwardly. If it was aimed away from himself and at the world in general – at other people – then it would save him from its horrible decay into hopelessness and misery.

Into guilt.

But the shapeless, formless mass of guilt lingered on, just the same. Just below the surface – and he knew it would come for him eventually, when the sun disappeared and his blood grew colder. For his guilt had a face – one he loved secretly in the darkness. One he missed already, and would certainly picture on all the lonely nights to come. It had a name, etched into his heart beside all the others he’d lost to time and grief and sadness.

But maybe it was for the best.

Jaskier would be safer like this, away from him. He would be hurt – more so than Yenn, in his way. But he would get over it. He would move on, and find someone else. Some silly fancy lady with a soft life and fine habits, who could make him happy in a way that Geralt of Rivia never could.

The witcher bowed his head, trying to purge the memories that surfaced, unbidden and unwanted, as he tried to trace out Jaskier’s heart.

His friend had been shocked into silence by his outburst. Too shocked and hurt to fight back, like Geralt had been expecting him to. After all, Geralt himself would have fought back – with clenched fists and a growl in his voice. Yenn had fought back. She had stood up for herself on instinct. So why hadn’t Jaskier?

Didn’t Jaskier truly love him? Didn’t the bard care enough to fight for him?

Had he imagined he’d been replaced by Yennefer?

His dearest friend had just turned and walked away. Geralt had heard his heavy footfall and shaken breath – but Jaskier had kept himself composed and distant. As if his feelings would just enrage the witcher even further. As if they didn’t matter. He’d kept them hidden from sight, because Jaskier – like Yenn – still had his pride.

But Geralt had been able to hear when that composure had finally broken, and Jaskier had sobbed all alone on the mountain road, barely a half mile downhill. And the bard had been right, in the end – the sound had made Geralt angrier. For a little while, before his fury had stilled. But now the sound echoed on in his heart, and hurt in a way that his rage at Yenn never could.

He shouldn’t have let Jaskier walk away like that.

He shouldn’t have let Yenn walk away like that.

But he wouldn’t go after either of them – not now, not ever.

Because what was done was done.

And both of them would be better off without him in their lives... and if they didn’t know that hard truth already, then Geralt of Rivia was sure that they would both find out soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this is still kinda the intro to this fic, but the direction of travel should soon become clear enough.
> 
> In this chapter, we have Jaskier wandering down the mountain on his way to the inn, feeling deservedly rather sorry for himself and vowing to do his hardest to forget all about Geralt of Rivia and his witchering. As if that will ever work out for him! 
> 
> He doesn’t expect to see anyone he knows at the inn, so obviously he is in for quite the nasty surprise when he sees who’s lurking in the shadows out of sight...

The mountain stream bubbled over with an effervescence that Jaskier did not feel – not this time. He could appreciate somewhere in the recesses of his mind that the murmur of water was there, but the sound held no meaning any more.

Except in one way.

He stepped down off the path and reached into the current – scooping the icy water up and onto his face, dabbing at all the damp skin around his eyes that was hot and sore. There was no telling who he might run into in the inn, and on the off chance that the witcher appeared he didn’t want any traces of the upset he felt to show on his face.

Things would be different now.

Whatever the witcher had once felt for him was obviously gone. And Jaskier understood the rules of the game better than most – he could cope with losing to someone like Yennefer, who was beautiful and exotic and would soon chew up and spit out a man like Geralt.

Jaskier knew. He understood. He’d seen it and done it all before. And he would have waited – he would have been there when it all went wrong, and helped put his friend back together again after the crazy woman had left him in pieces. He didn’t want anything more from the witcher – just his friendship.

But it was over before it had started between them.

And whatever had it even been?

One night of stolen affection, that had come out of nowhere and haunted him ever since?

All he’d wanted since then was to relive that night – for Geralt to come to his senses and let them both be happy. Together. Or as together as they could ever be.

But as soon as Yennefer of Vengerberg had reappeared, he’d understood that his wishes meant nothing.

And he could cope with the fact that Geralt didn’t feel the same about him anymore – if he had ever felt the same, in fact. That was life. That was the risk of feeling things. That hurt was the price of love. And just like all the sad old songs that he knew – the hurt that he felt was still full of precious meaning to him. It was still something he cherished, even though it bruised him. He could accept it. He could cope with it. Maybe in time he’d even get over it.

But what he couldn’t cope with was being _nothing._

For his whole existence in Geralt’s life to be nothing – less than nothing, even.

A burden. A nuisance.

An embarrassment.

That hurt on a whole new level of pain, and it wasn’t something that could be mended, because there was nothing of any value left there to mend. Their whole friendship was ruined, exposed as empty of purpose – empty of respect.

Worse than nothing.

He shook his head, and stared at his blurred reflection in the water – but the distorted shapes and colours meant nothing to him either. He tried to smooth down his hair, imagining how he might look in a real mirror, going through the same steps of preening and correction as if it would work the same way.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Whatever he looked like, it would just have to do. He was tired almost beyond caring right now – and the inn itself was just round the corner. He could find a bed for the night there, get some supper – and drink himself into a numbing stupor and rise early next morning to leave town on the first stagecoach for whatever place was as far away from here as was possible to get on the Continent’s whole wide wandering expanse.

Fuck Geralt, fuck his witchering, and fuck this stupid mountain!

Jaskier kept his eyes trained on the path ahead and stifled the urge to turn round and check behind himself again. He could see the lighted windows of the inn now, and he would not give in and look back to the darkening pathway. For every time he turned back he saw there was nobody there – nobody following him. And every time, his hurt deepened and his self respect took another blow.

It would never be Geralt’s style to chase after him, he knew this. The man was probably still brooding on the mountain top, looking down on the whole world from some lofty and remote vantage point – thinking he was somehow above ordinary human life. Deliberately setting himself apart from normal people, as was his way.

Well let him sit there, being broody and alone. The man obviously enjoyed his misery, so let him have as much of it as he liked.

Jaskier didn’t intend to ever see him again.

And as he stepped into the inn and inhaled the musty smell of the ales and heard the creak of the rotten floorboards, he was reminded of arriving there just days before – so near ago in time but somehow the memory felt like it had happened to someone else. Some happy soul whom he’d left entombed on top of the mountain. Someone he couldn’t fully recognise, or connect with, without feeling hurt all over again.

Jaskier sighed, steeled himself, and affected the smile that came so readily.

There was nobody here who would know the truth. He was safe here behind his familiar mask. And as long as he kept smiling the truth could be whatever he made of it.

He scanned around the porch and set off for the bar – wondering if there were any pretty serving girls, or bored housewives he might pass the time with. More than anything else, the thought of being alone tonight was suddenly dreadful, and after months of keeping himself off limits to anyone but Geralt – he was aching for some affection from anyone who would offer it.

He was single, he was free – and if Geralt didn’t want him then he would just find someone else who did.

He brightened his smile as he approached the young blonde barmaid, and saw her reciprocate with fluttering eyelashes, and with a heavy heart Jaskier attempted to push all thoughts of the lonely witcher out of his head, once and for all.

And so he didn’t see the purple eyes that that glared out at him from the shadows at the back of the tavern with undisguised disdain and a studied contempt...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, welcome to chapter three! Things should get moving a bit more now. This little scene is set in the tavern at the base of the mountain, where Yenn is waiting in the shadows, brooding on her own hurts. She notices Jaskier come in and naturally assumes Geralt has pimped him out to spy on her. But when she learns that this is not the case at all she begins to wonder how she can best use this situation for her own advantage and amusement...

Yennefer of Vengerberg sat in the shadows, letting them drape over her neck and shoulders like a silken film of darkness.

Sometimes she liked to be seen, and sometimes she didn’t.

And right now, as she toyed with the glass of beer in her hand, she was glad of the way the gloom concealed her face. She had no wish to talk to Geralt of Rivia – or any of his lowly associates – and she thought she had made that fact crystal clear back on top of the mountain.

So when she saw the witcher’s infamous bardic sidekick shuffle into the inn she experienced a moment of quiet disbelief.

Had that fool Geralt really stooped so low as to send in _Jaskier_ to talk to her? Was he that desperate? Or that stupid?

She stared through the thick candlelight that separated her dimly lit corner from the witcher’s prattling emissary and smiled to herself.

If Geralt was on his way down then she would blend into the shadows with a swish of her fingers, and he’d never be any the wiser that she’d been here at all. She had intended on staying at the inn tonight – before she set her portal and disappeared off to Caingorn in the morning, but now the quality of the inn’s clientele was so obviously declining she would happily revisit that plan.

She sipped her beer and let her purple eyes fall over the bard, studying his movements and waiting for the witcher to reveal himself at last.

But she was disappointed.

Jaskier was sat by himself with his lute at his feet, smiling wildly at the young barmaid and staring down at the floor when her back was turned.

This wasn’t right – where on earth was Geralt?

Maybe he wasn’t coming here tonight.

Maybe she didn’t have to portal off so quickly after all?

But there was only one way to be sure...

So with a wrinkle of her nose, Yennefer rose to her feet and sashayed across the tavern to where the musician sat all alone at the bar, wringing his hands together in a gesture that seemed off-key with his normal upbeat tenor.

She cocked her head to the side and noted the intensity of the man’s gaze into the floorboards. He still hadn’t noticed her silent approach towards him – the element of surprise was with her still.

Directing her voice right to his ear, she spoke with all the cold formality she could muster.

“Hello, Jaskier – how’s your throat? I would say it’s a pleasure to see you, but it’s not good manners to tell lies.”

The bard jumped at the sound of her voice, and spun round on the chair to stare at her with wide blue eyes – full of dismay upon recognising her.

It was an oddly pleasing tribute to her powers of intimidation, and Yennefer hoped her enjoyment of the bard’s fleeting panic wasn’t too obvious, or Geralt’s little helper might start getting ideas that his opinion actually mattered to her in some way.

But nonetheless, her curiosity was deepened.

He’d obviously not been expecting to see her here. So what was he expecting? What was he doing here – and more importantly, what was Geralt _not doing_ here?

“Yennefer. I thought you would be... _somewhere else_ by now.”

The bard gave her a chilly smile and reached for his drink, unwilling to watch her standing beside him.

“I’m _sure_ you did. That’s why you came in here – the only inn for miles around – to act all coy now that you’ve found me.”

She shook her head, studying him closely. Willing him to stop staring at the barmaid’s arse and meet her own gaze.

“Tell me the truth, bard – and I won’t intrude on your sleazy moves a second longer than I have to. Are you waiting for him to arrive? Or has your witcher tossed you down here by yourself to spy on me?”

The musician nodded his head and smiled into the distance. Still not looking at her.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Yennefer. But Geralt isn’t coming. He isn’t the sort to chase after anyone – not even you. Or hadn’t you ever noticed?”

There was a flicker of anger in his voice, behind the sarcasm and affected disdain for her. It was intriguing – and suddenly – it all made perfect sense.

She patted the bard across the shoulders and grinned.

“Oh, I see. I think I get it now. Geralt’s taken my rejection to heart and blamed it on you, hasn’t he? Did he think it was your singing that scared me off? I’m sorry, Jaskier, but – you know. Frankly you aren’t one of Geralt’s more appealing habits.”

She saw the bard stiffen and reach for his drink.

But the scornful response she expected didn’t come, and she narrowed her eyes. Had she misread him? Was Geralt actually on his way here after all to find her?

“What’s going on, Jaskier? Tell me.”

The bard looked at her finally, but the fight was missing from his eyes. And the smile had vanished from his face. He shook his head at her.

“You know, for a witch with magical mindreading powers – you’re a real bitch sometimes, has anyone ever told you?”

The grin froze on her face, and she blinked at him – trying to process the deliberate insult against the weary tone in the musician’s voice – unsure how to react to such a lacklustre provocation.

He was upset. Actually upset.

She reached inside the man’s unguarded mind with invisible fingers, and felt the chaos within. And for a moment the musician’s feelings were her own – until she’d felt enough to understand. Much more than enough. It was a painful place to be, in the bard’s heart.

Too much like hers was.

Part of her wanted to laugh in his face at the ridiculousness of it all, but despite all his effrontery she felt a kindred sense of compassion.

She fixed him with her purple eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Whatever did you expect to happen, Jaskier? He’s a witcher. You sing songs. You’re not his type.”

He must have heard the sympathy in her voice, for he suddenly stared back at her, with round, wide eyes. She’d never noticed how blue they were before – almost grey.

Like a child’s eyes, before the world darkened them forever.

But she saw a spark of anger flash there, all the same.

“I don’t need your pity, Yennefer. I don’t need anything from you.”

She removed her hand from his shoulder, about to shrug and walk away – if the silly creature wanted to sit here and wallow in self pity then that was his choice. Why should she care one way or the other?

She didn’t, of course.

But it was hard to walk away from him all the same. She had too many unanswered questions. Questions that he might be able to answer.

Maybe a different tactic was required here – if she wanted to learn more about Geralt – and the witcher’s prized collection of deep-seated, thinly-veiled emotional and psychological relationship issues. And she did want to, didn’t she?

Of course she did. She wanted to understand it all – and understand why he’d cast his love curse on her when they’d only just met. What had led him to make his wish and force these unwanted feelings upon her? And more importantly – how could she make it all go away?

And Jaskier was the key to unravelling it all – she just needed to unravel _him._ And she would. Hell, she might even enjoy it. She would certainly enjoy the look on Geralt’s face if he were to witness the two of them, together.

She smiled in happy malice at the thought, and touched her hand against the bard’s wrist.

He looked upon it in mistrust, as if she’d slipped him a dead fish.

“Of course you do, Jaskier. You need some company! You don’t want to sit here alone, feeling sorry for yourself. You want to talk, and let it all out – with some company that knows all about Geralt of Rivia and his mangled grasp of what we humans call feelings!”

The bard snorted and reached for his beer.

“And what do you care about his feelings, Yennefer? You dumped him, remember? You walked away. He’s not your problem anymore.”

She met his eyes, and nodded.

“And he’s not your problem, either, Jaskier – not since he’s dumped you. And yet here you are, sad and wretched – nothing better to do than drink on your own?”

He glared back at her, and she could see she’d won that round. He was easy to wound right now, and the buttons to press were obvious, even without her special magical mind-reading powers, or whatever he’d called them in his baseless insults.

But maybe the foolish bard had his uses after all. And running into him here, like this – gave her an idea...

She reached down and seized his drink from his hands – finishing what remained of it in a long swig, and then waved the empty glass in front of his face.

“So get drunk with me instead! I’ll pay. You know you want to.”

He opened his mouth to complain, but she slammed the glass down hard on the bar, earning herself a scowl from the blonde barmaid.

“My _friend_ and I will take two more beers, thank you very much.”

Beside her, Jaskier sighed – but she knew he didn’t have the energy to fight her. Not right now. And she suspected that whatever else he might think of her, on some level the lonely bard would be glad of her company.

Just like deep-down, maybe she was secretly glad of his...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a brief return to Geralt brooding on his failures on top of the mountain. Should he go after Yenn and Jaskier? He obviously wants to, but he’s so stubborn and proud! But maybe he should make sure they’re both okay, right? After all, in a world populated by monsters at every turn (and without any form of mountaintop street lighting), isn’t it a bit irresponsible to let the two people you supposedly care about storm off in an emotional state with darkness falling fast around them...?

The cold wind was intensifying now the darkness was closing in – the witcher could feel it stripping the heat away from his skin with every gust that blew up from the gloomy valley.

A frozen slap from those he’d abandoned.

He wondered if there was any point in seeking shelter on the summit, for however dark the night was it would hold no terrors for a witcher. It would be another cold one – already the first stars were twinkling against the cobalt skies, but perhaps the hardship would suit his mood. He was unlikely to sleep much anyway – his mind was far too uneasy.

Where were Yenn and Jaskier? What were they doing?

He felt suddenly worried for them both.

Had they reached the inn before nightfall? Had they stumbled on the way down and got stuck in a bog? Had they ran into bandits, who would see their fine clothes and lack of company as an opportunity to do them harm?

Or... what if something even worse had happened? What if they had run into something a lot worse than bandits? Some thing that had grasping claws and sharp teeth – that couldn’t be reasoned with, or bargained with – but just wanted to hurt them...?

Yenn could take care of herself, he was sure of that. But could Jaskier? The bard couldn’t go five minutes before stumbling into some disaster. And Yenn was angry – and volatile. Whatever she was doing, it would not be sensible. Whatever Jaskier was doing, it would lead to trouble.

He stared into the darkening valley, but there were no answers to be seen down there – even for one as sharp sighted as he was. He shut his eyes, trying to will away visions of his friends on the road all alone, being stalked by one of the many stealthy and vicious horrors that he knew lurked out there in the unlit recesses of the waking world. What if something bad had happened to either of them on their way down the mountain?

What if he’d put them in danger?

He shouldn’t have let Yenn and Jaskier walk off like that – feeling hurt and angry, and all alone.

He loved them both dearly, and he only wanted them to be safe, and happy, and whole. In his heart he wanted them both to be safe and happy by his side – smiling with their hands in his own hands, their arms around his shoulders – their lives entwined with his.

But he knew it was an impossible dream. Yenn had made that perfectly clear to him. She had no regard for him now, no respect left for his choices – and she would never give him another chance. And even if by some miracle he managed to calm her and make her stay, he would lose Jaskier – for the bard had taken against the mage right from the start. He hated her – and feared her, even though she’d saved his life. For Jaskier was jealous, and scared – scared of being cast aside and losing the affections of the man he loved.

And now, after Geralt’s own harsh words and failure to act, both of his beloved friends had walked away from him and given up.

He’d lost both of them.

But could he really risk either of them losing their lives for the sake of his pride?

The witcher sighed, and rose to his feet.

He would check the trackway down the mountain, and make sure no harm had befallen either of them. Just to satisfy his own unquiet mind. Just to make sure that they were both okay.

Just to check that they’d got down from the mountain in safety, and didn’t need any help.

Nothing else. He didn’t want anything else from either of them. Not to talk to them, not to apologise to them – not to take hold of either of them in his arms and tell them that he loved them, that he needed them. That he was sorry. Oh no.

He wasn’t thinking about the treasured memories of the few happy times that he’d kissed them, and held them, and made them feel loved. Or how happy they in turn made him feel – with their smiles, kind words, and caresses. Loved, and accepted, and wanted.

He wasn’t thinking about how feisty and bold Yenn was – how she had burned her presence so explosively into his heart and left him feeling impossibly alive and inspired by her own raw energy. She was wild and electric, and already he felt like a desert parched from a lack of stormclouds in her absence.

Or how gentle and sweet he knew Jaskier to be, how easy he was to love and how trusting he’d been with his heart. How forgiving he’d been, and generous. Geralt wasn’t thinking of that. He wasn’t thinking of the bard’s soft hands, or his warming smile. The smile that came often – for him – and made him feel renewed and sanctified.

Geralt knew he didn’t deserve either of them.

He’d let them both down – Yenn and Jaskier – and now they were gone.

The only two people who cared for him in the whole world. The only two people who made him feel less of a monster and more of a man – a man who deserved to be loved the same as anyone. They were the only two people who’d been brave enough to love him, despite his cursed existence. Despite himself.

They had seen something inside of him that others never had. They had _believed_ in him. For a time. Until bitter reality had set in and upended those stupid ideas born from love and hope.

For both of them should have known better, really. Their belief-in-him had always been an illusion, and their trust had cost them both dear. Maybe they’d got what they deserved for ever daring to think that they could hold on to something like him.

For he was a witcher, and he didn’t need anyone in his life. He needed nothing – or almost nothing, anyway.

He just desperately needed to know that Yenn and Jaskier were okay...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I’ve managed to get a bit more written this weekend (no work deadlines and weekend overtime this time round!!) so I’m going to update again with a slightly juicier chapter. 
> 
> Geralt might be searching down the mountainside and feeling worried for his friends, but meanwhile, Yenn and Jaskier are getting busy with each other in the tavern. They are holed up at the bar bitching about their mutual witcher problems and finding solace at the bottom of a beer glass – and increasingly in each other’s company. 
> 
> But is this really a good idea? Yenn certainly thinks so. Jaskier has his doubts. But who will come out on top in this particular skirmish?? I think we all probably know the answer to that one...

The shadow of darkness had fallen on the mountain now, but inside the Pensive Dragon, the fires were roaring and the candles were lit.

And Yennefer of Vengerberg found herself engrossed in the bard’s lively story.

“That big, angry, scary face – you know the one I mean? Well, he was furious. So whatever you said to him, he obviously _does_ blame me for it.”

“But that’s stupid, Jaskier – it’s not your fault he cursed me with the djinn’s magic! Our friend Geralt is more than capable of fucking things up without your illustrious help.”

Yennefer tossed her hair over her shoulder, angry again at the injustice of it all. She had no patience for Jaskier’s puppydog infatuation with the witcher, but it wasn’t fair for Geralt to blame the bard for his own mistakes. Especially when that blame was so richly deserved by Geralt himself.

It’s like he wouldn’t even accept he had done her dirty! He’d used magic to undermine her free will and attach her to himself. But why?

“He loves you, Yennefer. He was just upset.”

She stared back at the musician’s blue eyes, catching the misery in his voice.

She shook her head.

“He only loves me because of that spell, Jaskier. It isn’t real. It isn’t the same as what he feels for _you.”_

The bard blinked, and grabbed at his beer.

“The only thing he feels for me is regret at ever having met me. That’s what he said, Yennefer. That’s why I’m leaving. He doesn’t want me around anymore, not even as his friend.”

She watched the musician take a long gulp of the drink, and reached for her own. The two of them were on their fourth round already, and she still hadn’t eaten anything. It was turning out to be thirsty work this – their mutual dishing of the dirt on Geralt of Rivia...

And gods, she almost felt sorry for Jaskier. She knew how he felt for the witcher – probably everyone on the whole Continent knew, except for apparently Geralt himself. But she also knew his feelings were returned by the witcher – in his own hopelessly maladjusted way – although it was plain that Jaskier couldn’t see it, let alone accept it.

And maybe deep down, Geralt couldn’t accept it either? Maybe that’s why he’d used her, to try and escape what he felt for his friend. Not everyone on the Continent was as open-minded as the Northern coastal regions, after all – and even here, it was not so long ago that men had been cruelly punished for loves such as these.

So was Geralt just a coward who didn’t want the hassle of his human feelings? Was he trying to protect Jaskier from some sense of danger? Or did he just think he could cheat destiny with a bunch of magic spells and love curses?

She grabbed her beer with a rising sense of outrage again.

He had no right to involve her in his sordid little schemes like this!

Beside her Jaskier sat with his head bowed – a living reflection of the desolation she might herself feel if she allowed herself to weaken. But she would not weaken. She did not want Geralt’s love, and she was determined not to let it affect her like it had the musician. On the contrary: the beer was giving her other ideas. Vengeful and spiteful ones. But maybe they might prove to be useful, in the end.

If Geralt wanted to have her involved – then two could play at that game! And Geralt of Rivia would find out that it was not a game he could ever hope to win. For she would play dirty. She would play dirty – with Jaskier.

She reached her hand out across the bard’s shoulders, allowing her fingers to linger a little lower on his back than was fully friendly.

He stared at her in surprise, like an animal under attack. Even several pints down from their shared commiserations, he was still wary of her. She could see it in his eyes – confusion, worry – mistrust of her motives.

It gave her a sense of power. A real power that reassured her of her own free will – and her own free choice. And all she needed to make that choice complete was Jaskier. And then Geralt would be sorry!

She leaned in close, throwing the bard a smile that she hoped came across as both sultry and seductive, rather than just beery and drunk.

“You don’t need him, Jaskier. You can do much better than Geralt of Rivia. I think that _together,_ we _both_ can.”

His eyes widened at her words, but he either didn’t understand her flirtatious intent, or he wasn’t the pushover that she’d assumed him to be. Instead he stood up – forcing her hand off his back and putting some distance in between them again.

“I need to sleep, Yennefer. I should go to bed.”

She rose herself, and snatched one of his wrists before he could escape her.

He seemed too surprised to react, so she squeezed the musician’s slender hand slowly, until his grey-blue eyes stared back at hers in unspoken question.

“Go to bed then Jaskier. And take me with you.”

She placed his hand on her waist to let him feel the curve of her body.

But he shook his head at her, smiling slowly – a smile of disbelief.

“Yennefer, I think you’ve had too much to drink – and if I take you to bed with me, you’ll only kill me in the morning when you sober up. Or Geralt will kill me whenever he inevitably finds out. But either way, I’ll be a dead man. And why would you want that for me?”

She rolled her eyes – but his hand was still on her waist. He couldn’t quite bring himself to tear it away just yet. The bard was testing her, just like she was testing him.

She sneered.

“Oh, fuck Geralt! What does he have to do with us? Do you really want to be alone tonight, Jaskier? Lying there all sad and abandoned in your bed when you could be having fun with me?”

He was staring at her hard now, starting to doubt himself.

She leaned in close again – to whisper in his ear.

“I know you’ve been with plenty of women, Jaskier. And I know you’ll be so very _good._ But do you know how good I am? Do you know what’s it’s like to be with a sorceress, hmm? Have you ever had a mage in your bed before?”

She let her lips tickle against the skin on his neck, so that his whole body froze. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on remembering to resist her – but she knew he was falling under her spell. The only thing stopping him was his old sense of loyalty to the witcher, but that loyalty was far too abstract. It could not compete with her hot breath on his neck – or the curiosity she could feel bubbling under his skin at her suggestive promise...

She mouthed the words right into his ear – as slowly and deliberately as she could.

“Do you know what a woman like me could do to a man like you?”

His eyes flew open and he stared at her in a plea.

“I’m really very worried I’m going to find out, if you keep teasing me like this. What are you doing here, Yennefer? What are you playing at?”

She shrugged, reaching out to him with her emotions – trying to still the fear he felt at her proximity.

“I’m only lonely, same as you. I’m not your enemy – and I could be a good _friend,_ if you let me be. Let me show you, Jaskier. Let me take care of you tonight.”

She tugged at his hand, and nodded to the staircase in the corner. And with a crooked smile, she looked him straight in the eye and delivered what she knew would be the killing blow.

“Come to my room, Jaskier. Don’t you want to find out what made Geralt pick me over you?”

The musician’s mouth fell open, and he stared at her with injured grief. And for a moment she wondered whether she’d gone too far and lost him completely – until the bard shook his head with a bitter smile all of his own.

“Go ahead and show me then, Yennefer. Be my guest.”

The man was angrier than she’d seen before – suddenly his fear of her was gone, replaced by jealousy and rage, just as she’d fully intended. And something else too. A new steely resolve had taken root in his grey-blue eyes, and she knew that she’d won this war.

He was hers now – and any guilt or doubt he felt about it was long gone.

She reached a hand to his face, still expecting him to flinch at her touch – but instead he pulled her close so suddenly that she heard herself gasp.

And Jaskier heard it too. He stared at her in scorn for a second, then pressed his lips upon hers with a fearlessness that made her hungry to suddenly purge herself of every last trace of Geralt still left within her.

She kissed the bard back, fighting against him to control the tempo – until the both of them were struggling for breath and had to break off, still staring into the other’s eyes – daring that other one to take the next step in their mutual debasement of each other.

If only Geralt could see them now!

She smiled in victory, and seized both his hands – leading him towards the staircase, impatient now to slip the musician out of sight of the tavern’s patrons and have him all alone at her mercy. And she would not be merciful – not tonight. She wanted him hard, and she wanted him angry, and she wanted him to suffer like she did for all the witcher’s crimes...

They’d barely made the top of the stairs when she turned on him, pushing him against the wall and grabbing at his hips. He murmured in protest, but she held him fast so he couldn’t flee. She pinched at his flesh under his clothes, and groped for what she knew would hurt him.

He groaned as she found it, and her spirits inflamed at the sound. He was hard already – and maybe she was being too rough like this, or maybe he just didn’t care, for he was pawing at her skirt now anyway – hitching it up, and running his skillful fingers across the skin of her thighs...

But she didn’t want to give in to him so easy. She would make him wait, and make him beg for it.

She wrenched him away from the wall by the shoulders. She wanted to take his clothes off, and have her way with him. She wanted him stripped, and bound, and made to suffer things he knew he couldn’t escape from – all for her enjoyment. All without mercy. Until he cried and begged and was broken by her will.

Until he cried out to her, and screamed her name out into the wild and dark night.

And Geralt would hear it all, and see it all too. She would make it so. She had her ways – dark ways, for dark deeds such as these.

Yennefer pushed the door open to her room, and Jaskier followed her inside, oblivious and insensate to the madness that awaited inside the mage’s candlelit bedroom...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this is quite a short chapter this time. It’s a wee check-in on Geralt as he continues to stew over how he was mean and nasty earlier on. In the true spirit of Valentine’s Day, he feels all sad and lonely on the mountain side (I’m sure we’ve all been there), especially when the pretty lights of the inn come into view – and he reaches a final decision about what to do to atone for his many crimes against love and romance.
> 
> Over the Valentine's weekend I’ll post up a longer chapter revisiting Jaskier – as he and Yennefer make good on their revenge-sex escapades to spite each other and forget all about their erstwhile witchery friend...

As the witcher descended the mountain, the moon had risen round and red – and now was sailing through the black night sky even as the cold winds howled around him.

He was glad for the moonlight. It made seeing into the dark landscape even easier for him – and with his ears tuned into the rustling of each blade of grass, and the snap of every twig in the bushes and bogs that lined the path – the witcher could sense all that moved around him. The whole theatre of night-time was playing out its familiar script, and nothing untoward seemed to disturb the little animal creatures as they scurried about their lives under cover of darkness.

There were certainly no cries for help to be heard out here – and no ragged breathing of man nor woman lying injured by the roadside.

Yenn and Jaskier must have made it down safely after all.

The relief was real, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. For now the witcher wondered where they both were – now they were gone from this place – and who they were with. What was going through their minds. Were they okay – or were they angry? Were they lonely? Were they sad – like he was?

No doubt Yenn had left this mountain far behind herself and was in one of the big cities – making eyes at some rich and powerful young lord. Moving on in haste to the next poor fool who would live to regret the day he ever met her. He doubted she was thinking about him at all.

But Jaskier – he must be in the inn. There were no signs or sounds of anyone human out here on the mountain, so the bard must have decided to spent some of the little money he had on a room for the night. And there was only one inn that was close by.

The idea gave him a strange kind of hope.

A hope that maybe it wasn’t too late? Maybe he could still speak to Jaskier. Maybe he could try and right what he’d said, and say what he’d meant to tell the musician instead of letting him walk away?

He cast his amber eyes down to the glowing windows of the inn, lit up with the lights of candles shining out into the hillside, and shook his head.

The bard would be drunk right now. Drunk and feeling sorry for himself. If he went to speak to his friend now – to explain how the horrible words had come tumbling out by mistake – he would not be understood. He might not even be welcome. And he would only have himself to blame if Jaskier told him to leave and not come back.

It would be better to say the things that he wanted to say in the light of the morning, after both of them had slept.

He stopped pacing around the trackway, and made for a small copse of trees that lay sheltered from the worst of the wind. He could sleep here – wait for the sun to come up – and then he would find Jaskier, and explain himself to the bard. He would not allow his friend to leave under this cloud, not with so much anger and sadness splitting them apart from each other.

He had no idea what he would say, but he would think of something. He had all night out here to think of something that might make amends and let Jaskier know how much he was needed. How much he was loved – and wanted. How much Geralt would give to take those words back and make things right between them at last.

It was time to put the pretence down and face the truth.

And sitting down on the grass, the witcher stared back at the cosy lights of the inn.

He had an ache in his heart just looking at them, and wanted nothing more than to be inside for once – where it was warm, and bright, and merry – and hear his friend sing a song just for him.

What was Jaskier doing, just now? Geralt doubted the bard felt like singing, but maybe he was strumming on that old lute, anyway? Charming a crowd. Winning the smiles of all the women at a stroke – and earning the scowls of all their menfolk double time.

The witcher shut his eyes, imagining he was back in his friend’s presence – with Yenn beside them both – listening to the gentle chords of some melancholy love ballad that he’d once heard Jaskier play – waiting for the song to end so he could apologise for hurting them both. So he could tell them how he felt, and chase that sadness away to where it belonged – out in a pitch black night on the open mountain side with the howling wind picking up in ferocity as the moon climbed higher.

And on a night as dark as this, Geralt couldn’t wait for the light of morning to come...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is a bit of a longer chapter: there’s so much for Yenn and Jaskier to do in this whole sordid sequence of events, that this is still only Act I of the tavern bedroom scene. I thought it would be fun to write it from Jaskier’s point of view, since we’ve seen a bit of Yenn’s thoughts recently. 
> 
> So he might be a bit scared of Yennefer and her magical powers at times in this chapter, but rest assured – nothing bad is going to happen to anyone - and Jaskier might just learn to love Yenn a little bit too if he manages to get beyond that instinctive and paranoid fear that she’s going to kill him!

At first glance, the room _looked_ normal enough – with a big bed, fireplace, candles. The usual stuff. But still.

Yennefer was pulling him through the doorway by his shirt tails, and as he crossed the threshold he was struck by a sudden urge to throw salt over his shoulder and twist the silver ring he wore tight round his finger. As if any of that could help him now.

But there were no severed animal heads, or bottles and potions of dubious provenance lying spilled on the floor. No runes scraped into the wardrobe or daggers laid out in waiting to be thrust into his ribcage the moment Yennefer took his shirt off – because that’s still what he was half expecting her to do, whatever she might say.

He didn’t trust her – but fuck it.

He’d decided he didn’t care anymore, and whatever happened to him would all be that cursed witcher’s fault.

For if Yennefer of Vengerberg was determined to fuck him like this, then he wouldn’t be the one to say no to getting saucy with the infamous sorceress. He had enough faith in her massive ego to mostly believe that she wouldn’t turn him into a toad the next morning – especially if he managed to butter her up nicely tonight, which was what she obviously wanted here, wasn’t it?

A fuck-you-Geralt shag.

And oh – he could _so_ deliver on that front! Her cynical sentiment was the same as his own, even if he wasn’t sure who was playing games and who was getting played here. He wasn’t used to being the one pursued into these predicaments, after all. Not by women, anyway.

But none of it mattered. Not now. Because Yennefer was closing the door behind him and pushing him down on to the four poster bed – and wow – she was almost as strong as he was! With her hands tearing at the buttons on his shirt like a woman possessed of talons and claws...

“Hey, maybe you could mind the shirt as you go? – this is real cambric weave!”

But his grumbling only made the woman’s purple eyes shine with mirth.

“Be quiet, bard. I didn’t bring you up here for your conversation.”

Yennefer slithered on top of him and straddled his hips – and he realised he couldn’t escape now even if he’d wanted to. But did he even want to?

She snatched up his hands and held them firm against her breasts, studying his reaction with a smile. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her look of triumph as he let his fingers wander over her silk dress, searching for a way through to the warm flesh he could feel hidden just out of reach...

How could he get the dress off? Did it even have fastenings, or was it made from some eldritch fabric that needed blasphemous chanting to undo?

“You’re wound up so tight, Jaskier. It must be painful. How long has it been since you were last with someone, hmm?”

He opened his eyes and narrowed them. She was toying with him. But let her have her fun – he didn’t care. He just wanted her to take that goddamn dress off and then he’d soon have her singing a different tune.

He smiled back at her, meeting her gaze.

“It’s not been so long that I’ve forgotten my lines – don’t worry about that. But I can’t do anything with you sat on me like this. So, why don’t you – ”

But the sorceress was leaning down to kiss him, and his words were torn away as her lips met his and choked the breath out from under them. He gave in to her, and let her slide her hips into position over the top of his own – pressing herself down on him with expert precision – and draining the blood from his waking thoughts and sending it somewhere else entirely. Somewhere that made his head spin.

The world seemed to go black – with red stars dancing wildly before his eyes – and the dizzy spell only lifted when he felt her hands sliding over his shirt again.

He flinched at the tearing sound of the clean white cotton, and struggled against her onslaught of kisses.

“Yennefer, are you trying to ruin me already? It’s not very ladylike to push so hard, so fast – you know?”

The witch shook her head at him in mock sympathy.

“You don’t want _ladylike,_ Jaskier. You’ve had all that before. You want something different tonight. Something _magical_. And you want me to show it to you.”

She pulled the torn cotton away, exposing his skin to the warm air rippling in between them. And inside his chest, his heart fluttered. Straining to break loose and set itself free – along with the rest of him.

He was tiring of her games already. He wanted to feel something real. Something to take his mind away from their mutual former friend and his big, angry face.

“And what are you going to show me then? What have you got that makes our witcher friend favour you over me?”

He heard the sourness in his voice, and those purple eyes met his across a wide chasm of curiosity – and was that really a flicker of compassion there, in her eyes – just for a moment? Did this woman feel sorry for him – was that it? Was all this just a _pity shag_ to her??

He felt his blood bubbling hotter at the very idea.

And Yennefer of Vengerberg saw his face and laughed and laughed.

She wound her fingers through the fine hairs on his chest and tugged at them. It was an almost playful gesture – but the tone in her voice darkened.

“Don’t you worry about that. Don’t worry about _him._ I’ll fix it all – you’ll see. So long as you fix me. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Playing women. Playing men. Playing music. Well, show me how good you are, bard. Show me what you really toss off when you’re thinking about your witcher, and then I’ll show you what’s mine to give.”

She slid her hand down his chest and over his groin, rubbing at him through the bunched fabric of his trousers. He had to swallow down the moan that came all too easily at her bidding. He couldn’t show his weakness to her like this, already! He didn’t want his body to betray him so quickly at her urging, as if that made her better at this whole game than he was...

She would not best him like this so soon!

But she was touching him with a pressure that was certainly hard to ignore. And it was all he could do not to groan as she lowered her mouth to his neck and bit him gently.

“Yennefer... you should really – ”

Her hand roamed across his face and she slid a finger into his mouth, silencing him.

“Shut up, Jaskier. I’ve had enough of your talking. I don’t want to hear any more of your words.”

She squeezed him through his trousers, and this time he couldn’t stifle the groan or hide the great shudder that ran through his whole body. He clenched his hands into the flesh of her breasts and screwed his eyes shut as her fingers clasped around him.

And when he opened his eyes she was staring down at her handiwork, shaking her head and looking pleased with herself.

“You know, I don’t think I can trust you to behave yourself, bard. You’re far too emotional to contain yourself tonight – what with all the nasty things Geralt has said to you. You need me to control you, or our fun will be over far too quickly for my liking.”

Her finger brushed over his lips, as if she was permitting him to speak. Should he protest at this manhandling? The idea of laying back and letting her do... whatever it was that a sorceress could actually do – did have a certain appeal. But this slur on his sense of timing and fair play couldn’t be allowed to pass unchallenged!

“Oh, I can wait, Yennefer – I’ve had almost as much practice at doing this as you have. So just you do whatever you want to me – just... don’t destroy any more of my clothes.”

She sat up and smiled nastily, brushing his hands from her chest and grabbing at his wrists instead – pushing them up towards the bedposts – and as the torn shreds of his shirt started wrapping round his hands of their own accord he felt a sliver of fear returning...

He’d never be able to unwrap these ties himself – she was binding him with magic! He’d assumed she would use her magic to make him feel _nice,_ not hold him prisoner like she had done in Rinde.

She laughed at his expression, and ran her hand down his chest.

“Don’t look so scared, Jaskier – your witcher isn’t coming to the rescue this time. This time, it’s just you and me. And by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll have forgotten how to even spell his name, I promise you.”

And with a flourish, the woman dismounted him and stood to her feet. She turned her back, and seemed to rummage in a bag in the corner of the room – unseen, from the angle where he lay. But then she reappeared, approaching him, and he saw what she held in her hands.

A small silver knife. Pointing right at him.

Oh shit – this wasn’t good! What the fuck had he been thinking of, coming up here? Hadn’t she tried to kill him the last time they’d been all alone together?

He struggled against the cotton ties and tried to sit up.

“Yennefer! There’s really no need for... violence! I didn’t mean what I said before, about you being a bit – ”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

“I mean, I know you’ve slept about a bit – who hasn’t these days? – but – ”

The witch was swinging a leg over his knees – climbing back into position on top of him. Shit, shit, shit!

“But I really think that violence – ”

“Jaskier – do you _ever_ shut up?”

She leaned down and brushed her lips across his cheek, and he clamped his eyes closed. He was trembling now, and she was near enough to see it all – to feel it, and to smell his fear. And she must know now that she’d won – just like she’d won everything before, just like she’d taken everything he’d loved away – and replaced it all with this hollow game between them...

He opened his eyes, ready to tell her to just kill him now and be done with it – because he was tired of fighting her, and tired of losing to her, and tired of being a pawn in her twisted schemes. He knew he could never win against her – they both knew it. She had every advantage going. And he had nothing.

But instead of the silver blade slicing into his ribs, he felt something else. Something light, and tender – brushed against his cheek.

Her lips.

She was kissing him – kissing him as if she _cared._ As if she didn’t want to hurt him. Like she wanted to _be_ with him, and make him feel good...

Her eyes were closed, with her left hand running through his hair – directing his mouth closer to hers, until their lips met. And it did feel good.

She felt good. She felt yielding to him, and gentle... sensual, and soft. Not like before.

He closed his eyes, and let the sensations overtake him.

His heart was still beating too fast, but suddenly it felt pleasurable. It felt natural – and right – he felt like he was right where he was supposed to be, with this beautiful woman rocking herself onto his body, and planting kisses on his lips, and ruffling his hair, and –

She raised her right hand to his head, and with a jolt he realised she’d cut through something.

His eyes shot open, confused again – and she presented the lock of brown hair to him with a smile.

“Don’t look so worried, Jaskier – I cut it from the back. No one will see.”

He heard the breath catch in his throat.

“What are you doing?”

But Yennefer didn’t reply – she was already climbing away and returning to her little bag of tricks, strutting over to the large fireplace in the centre of the room.

He watched, eyes widening, as she threw some black powder onto the fire – the flames flickered blue for a moment as whatever it was burned – and a sweet, sickly smell fell heavy in the air.

“I’m just setting the scene a bit, Jaskier. That’s all. I’ve told you – you don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Not tonight. Not ever again.”

She turned to face him, and held up a lock of her own raven hair.

“See?”

In a flash of silver, she brought the knife across the strands and cut some tufts loose. And he could only watch in morbid fascination as she threw the cuttings into the fire – along with the strands of his own hair that she’d so freshly harvested.

“What... is that going to do? Are you – are you casting a spell? On _me?”_

The witch met his gaze, staring into him with the full force of those purple eyes – daring him to resist.

“I’m doing something that will make you feel _good_ , bard. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She snapped her fingers, and the window suddenly flew open, trailing the linen curtains inside as the cold wind howled through the room, sending the candles sputtering to their deaths, one by one.

And as the sorceress approached him once again – tied as he was to her bed – the flames in the fireplace burned bright blue behind her, casting eerie flickers of light and shadow spinning around the ceiling.

“I don’t want anything _bad_ to happen to anyone, Yennefer. If you want me dead, I’m sure there are easier ways than this...”

She reached down to his bare stomach, and the light brush of her fingers made him wince. She was busy now – untying his belt with a savage haste... pulling what remained of his clothes off in a series of harsh tugs that made him feel both creeping dread and deep and crude desire. A desire that seemed to strengthen as the sickly sweet spice burned hot in the grate.

She let her eyes rove over his stripped flesh, sizing him up and meeting his eyes with a sly smile.

“I don’t want you dead, bard. You’re far too pretty for the grave.”

“Then what is all this, Yennefer? Are you going to hurt me?”

Her eyes widened at his words, and the witch shook her head.

“I’ll never hurt you, Jaskier. I‘m your friend.”

She shimmied onto the bed, and pulled her dress over her head, exposing her own naked flesh to him.

He almost didn’t want to look – because he knew what his reaction would be – but the presence of her was hypnotic. The blue flashing light was dazzling, and the sweet burning herbs were soothing. And once his eyes had seen her body, and took in her soft curves and smooth skin, they were stuck there on her, saucer wide and unblinking.

Fuck, he wanted her. Fuck Geralt – how had he never noticed how beautiful this woman was before?

The blue flames were flickering over her skin, and the strong, heady scent of the black powder filled the room like incense. Maybe it was intoxicating him – or maybe it was the feeling that shot through his body as she climbed herself over his limbs and sat on top of his waiting, needy body – but the room seemed to rotate, in the shimmering, haunting light...

“This isn’t what _friends_ normally do, Yennefer...”

He could feel how close her warmth was to him, and he cursed those cotton ties that bound him to the bed – he wanted to grab her hips, and guide her onto him, and feel her around him – how much longer was she going to leave him lacking like this?

She smiled, watching the blue light shift across his features. He knew why she’d restrained him – and he both hated her for it, and recognised the genius of it all.

“Then be my lover, Jaskier. Tell the world that you’re mine now.”

“Whatever you want, Yennefer – please, just...come closer..”

She heard the need in his voice, and smiled.

“Well, since you did say the magic word...”

She pressed her lips to his, and kissed him lightly. The rest of the world seemed to vibrate behind his eyes, but he could feel her presence, bathed in blue and purple, and she was so close to him now...

“Do you want me to give it to you, Jaskier?”

Her fingers reached down to wrap around the length of him, and forced a groan from his lips before he’d even realised it was coming. And those wicked little fingers of hers played him so cruelly and slowly, he wanted to scream. But then she would know that she’d beaten him, and so he suffered in silence – until he could stand it no longer.

“Yes, please – give it to me...”

Every stroke was pulling his skin tighter and stiffer. Drawing his breath out harder and hotter, and wringing gasps of pent-up hunger from his fevered body. Ratcheting up the primal, driving need he felt for her.

What could he do to make her listen to him?

“Are you ready for me, Jaskier? Ready to show everyone that now – you belong to me?”

“Yes...”

“That’s good. Because I want you too.”

“Mmm...”

“I want to give it to you right now...”

“Please...”

She took his face in both her hands, kissing him hungrily – so full of animal lust that it made his skin ache for her...and then he felt her rock herself back onto him.

“Oh fuck, Yenn...”

_“Jaskier – “_

She was all around him, sliding on to him, and his whole consciousness froze as the warmth and electricity in her body flowed into his.

“Oh fuck me!”

She rode him hard, and fast – and he felt his self control wither and die. It was no match for her body, and he didn’t want to fight her anymore – not when it felt so good to be hers like this...

He groaned – helpless to stop himself now, and too wrapped up in the pleasure of her care to mind what else might happen under her spell...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this week’s chapter revisits our hapless witcher – waiting on the mountainside for daybreak so he can try to make amends to Jaskier – when suddenly his nightmares are disturbed by a Yenn-sent vision. It’s like she can read his thoughts and control his dreams! But is he dreaming? Of course not! He’s seeing exactly what his former friends are getting up to in the tavern bedroom without him around...

The night on the mountainside was black and empty, with fleeting gusts of cold air blowing in and out of the witcher’s dreamless mind.

He was restless in his sleep, with rattling memories that came in pulses and shook him awake for a spell – before the hard ground and bitter wind reminded him of where he was. And what he’d done.

The wounding memories kept returning to him, replaying from new angles that made him feel worse and worse as the night wore on.

He kept seeing Yenn’s face as she’d stormed off, betrayed and angry. Then Jaskier’s face, abandoned and hurt. On and on the visions plagued him, waking him from the fragments of sleep he managed to take.

When would this night end so he could get up and put things right?

But at some time in the dark hours, something finally shifted in his mind. He wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming anymore, but he couldn’t be awake. Maybe he’d fallen down some hole in the cracks between nightmares? For something was different now. The chill had gone and the wind had stilled. But more than that – the air felt thicker and more resonant... wherever he was.

And wherever he was, he had company.

There was someone else here with him – he could sense it. He was no longer alone in the wilderness.

And even blind in the darkness, he knew who it was. That scent of lilac and gooseberries hit him before he even heard her voice, and he was blinking his eyes, looking around, trying to find her.

But he heard her catch her breath, from her hidden place. And then her voice, rich and commanding – coming through clear across the distance in between them.

_Are you lonely tonight, Geralt? Would you like some company out there on the mountain?_

He spun around in the gloom, still trying to locate her.

_Yenn, where are you?_

But all he heard was her laughter – rippling through the air from all directions.

_You’ll see, Geralt. You’ll see._

_Yenn, wait!_

He sensed her presence fading, and tried to reach out to grab hold of it. But he was too late. She was gone, and he was falling through the blackness – then falling into a world of blue and violet tones...

And he saw someone else now. Someone that stirred all kinds of longing on his heart strings, and made his guilt and desire unite into one surging sense of purpose.

He saw Jaskier.

He saw the man’s face, up close – his blue eyes half closed and pink lips gasping for air, his skin all damp and flushed red. He was agitated, flustered – was someone hurting him?

Geralt felt a needle pierce his heart at the thought.

The bard’s features tightened in a groan of feeling, at something unseen... but the words he cried out came through loud enough to the witcher. The man was calling to someone.

He was calling out to Yennefer.

Yennefer?

_“Fuck, Yenn – oh fuck that’s good. Mmmm – ”_

He was... with her. The witcher could see it now. He could see Jaskier – his Jaskier – and Yennefer... together. Together and... not fighting. Definitely not fighting. They were naked. They were fucking.

They were fucking?

Fucking each other?

What the fuck?

_“Are you going to write a song for me, Jas? A song to sing to your witcher?”_

_“If you want...”_

_“Sing how I’m the best shag you’ve ever had?”_

_“Yes – fuck yes!”_

_“Am I a better fuck than he was?”_

_“Oh yes!I mean no! – no one’s better than you – I don’t want you to stop – fuck!”_

_“That’s right, Jas – but you’re going to have to sing it louder than that...”_

The witcher didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do. He could only watch them at it.

Jaskier... and Yennefer. Was this for real?

_Oh come on Geralt, give us some credit. We don’t need you to have a good time!_

This was real, wasn’t it? They were really doing this. Fuck. What hell dimension had he fallen into here?

_Yenn! What are you doing?_

He heard her laugh, and saw her face tilt up to stare right at him in the purple light – even as she straddled Jaskier and rode him with her tits bouncing – not that the bard was paying attention. His eyes were rolled back, concentrated on his own pleasure.

Yennefer grinned.

_I’m showing your former travelling companion a good time. He’s had a bad day, Geralt. He needs cheering up._

The witcher stared at her in disbelief.

_Is this real?_

But she ignored his question.

She reached her hands down to Jaskier, stroking them over his hairy chest and up his arms. His hands were tied to the bed with scraps of tattered clothing. The witcher stared at the cotton cloth in shocked bereavement.

Jaskier had loved that shirt. It had been his favourite!

_It’s been put to better use, Geralt._

_Hmm. So I see._

The witcher was shaking his head, trying to process the torrent of emotions rising up under the frozen pane of surprise. How was this possible? Had Yennefer bewitched the bard? Had Jaskier slipped the sorceress a love potion?

Had both of them lost their minds?

In his thoughts, he heard Yennefer giggle.

_Nobody has lost their mind... yet. But your former friend is about to. Do you want to watch, Geralt? Do you want to watch what we’re going to do?_

Something stirred inside the witcher. But he didn’t know what the name of this feeling was – only that it made his heart beat faster. With rage, with jealousy – with desire? He didn’t know. He knew he shouldn’t want to watch this – but yet he did.

Oh yes, he very much did.

_There’s no need to feel bad about doing what you want, Geralt. Just look at Jas here – he let me rip his nice shirt just so I could fuck him like this. So he’d last longer for me. He does what he wants. And he does what I want too!_

The sorceress laughed at some unknown joke.

_But he doesn’t know about the other restraint I’ve put on him, Geralt. You remember that one, don’t you?_

The witcher stiffened. He remembered all about that _other_ restraint. He remembered exactly what had happened to him once Yenn had released his body from her mental hold.

It had taken him a whole fifteen minutes to regain the power of speech, and he’d had trouble walking until the next day. And he was a witcher. He was made of stern stuff.

_Yenn, don’t damage him!_

_Don’t be so melodramatic. Jas likes to experiment. He’ll take it a lot better than you did._

_Yenn, no!_

But the sorceress was sliding off the bard already.

The witcher’s eyes scanned the musician’s slim muscle, lingering over the uncovered parts that were seldom free to view outside of private reverie. The man’s body was engorged – how long had Yenn been holding him in with her magic? He was fit to burst.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open in a futile plea.

_“No, don’t stop, Yenn – not now!”_

Without a word, the sorceress lifted one hand and clicked her fingers, and the shirt scraps dissolved from the bard’s wrists.

He stared up at her in confusion.

_“I’ve freed you, Jas – I want you on top. Fuck me hard, like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”_

She grabbed his hips and rolled herself under him, and Jaskier didn’t waste any time – not now his hands were free.

_“You want it like this?”_

The witcher watched, spellbound.

He’d never seen his friend in action with a woman before. He’d heard him – once or twice – in the early days of their acquaintancy before Geralt had grown to care enough to be jealous... for the bard never shut up, especially not when he was entertaining his ladies...

And watching the sensuality in his movements – even now, desperate as Jaskier must be – he was gentle with Yennefer – admiring of her... sweeping his hands over her breasts and across her shoulders with reverence and care.

He took her hands in his.

And there was a pang of envy somewhere within the witcher.

But who was he more jealous of? The bard – having his way with the woman Geralt longed for night and day? Or the sorceress – being touched so skillfully by the man Geralt loved beyond reason?

He saw Yennefer’s face tense as Jaskier pushed her down and sunk himself into her – deep and slow. Her lip quavered as she stared into his eyes – and he responded to her with care – increasing his rhythm, stroke by stroke...

_Fuck me Geralt, he’s good!_

The witcher stared at the vision, feeling bereft – and more alone than ever. Was she going to give him a running commentary of this? Just to rub it in?

_“Jas, do it harder...”_

The bard tensed his shoulders and squirmed.

_“But I’ll – ”_

_“Do it. I want it!”_

Jaskier groaned. But he complied – and Geralt could see each muscle on his back tense up, as the sway of his hips quickened. He was nearly at the point of no return – and the witcher knew that feeling well. How good it felt. He knew what it felt like with both of these two – how satisfying it had felt to lose control inside each of them.

But he’d never watched it happen to either of them like this.

He’d never been on the outside, looking in like this. On them – together.

And suddenly he wanted to touch them both. He wanted to reach out his hand and feel the swell of Jaskier’s ass as he thrust into Yenn – or take her fevered face in his own hands and stroke her hair as Jaskier worked her so well.

He wanted to watch them both collapse, and then...

He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

_Do you want to see, witcher?_

He heard her laugh – but the sound was distracted. She was distracted. She hooked her knees around Jaskier’s waist and cried out to him.

_“Harder, Jas – I want you now!”_

The bard only moaned in return, and Geralt knew he was fighting for that last scrap of control – and losing. He heard Jaskier’s moan choke off, as his body fought free of his conscious mind and acted with a will of its own now.

_“Yenn – fuck – ”_

_“Give it to me, Jas!”_

_“Oh, holy fuck – !”_

Jaskier sounded almost surprised – and Geralt wondered what on earth the man had expected to happen when bedding a sorceress – but his words broke off into an anguished howl. The bard’s body shook and rocked, as both speech and control failed him so ecstatically.

Yennefer’s eyes flew open as she heard her lover’s cries, eager to watch him breaking inside of her. She clasped a hand to his head and held him – and closed her own eyes as her own moment came.

That single gesture was like a knife in his heart. That tender caress between them both – as they rolled around in bliss together, without him – it was cruel. It was maddening.

How dare they touch each other like this?

How dare she show him this?

This _betrayal._

They didn’t even like each other, did they?

Didn’t they?

He listened to the heave of their breathing as they struggled for air. He watched Jaskier’s body tremble and lie still, spent and exhausted now. The man was speechless, dazed and dazzled by the force of the pent-up release. After what she’d done to him.

And she was stroking his back now – whispering something in his ear. She was giggling at some joke between them, that not even the witcher could hear – because the scene was fading now, the sound was already gone.

Yenn’s power was drained now she’d met her end – and the vision was failing.

The last thing he saw was her kissing Jaskier’s cheek – grazing his skin lightly and delicately with her lips. As if he’d pleased her. As if she felt affection for her new lover. As if she was his now – and him hers.

The witcher felt sick.

He’d seen everything he wanted – and it felt like poison in his heart.

The vision disappeared, and an uneasy blackness overtook him. It could have been hours – or it could have been minutes, but the memory of their kiss lingered on in his thoughts for some time.

Until he opened his eyes to the bright glow of morning, breaking golden over the mountainside.

And in the distance his eyes found the tavern – the tavern where the two of them were no doubt still lying – lying together in each other’s arms. Jaskier would be weak after that performance. Yenn was probably still kissing him – tending him. Brushing the hair from his face while they laughed at him together.

Fuck.

What the fuck was he going to do now?

He blinked in the morning sunshine, feeling exposed and trapped by the bright daylight.

There was nowhere to hide from Yennefer. Nowhere she couldn’t find him, if she searched. If she was determined to punish him like this, she could go on doing it night after night. And the woman was nothing if not stubborn.

And Jaskier – was he in on this as well? Did he think this was funny? To seduce the only woman that Geralt wanted?

He had to find out. He had to go to the inn, and confront them both. And put a stop to this, one way or the other.

The witcher rose to his feet, with only one destination in mind – and a sense of rage that spiraled every time he thought of their tainted kiss and cruel whispers...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this week we will be treated to Geralt’s Scrooge-like visitation of Yenn and Jaskier, which is obviously quite a pivotal scene in their ever-chicaning journey to true love and romance. As a result, this chapter has become rather long – so make sure you’re sitting down with a nice cup of tea and some biscuits, because this one is like twice the size of the chapters I normally write.
> 
> For now, Jaskier is waking up to discover that last night – not only did he NOT sleep alone – but that he may well have had more of an audience while ‘performing’ than even he is comfortable with...

Golden sunlight was spilling through the open windows, casting flickers of shadow through the drifting linen curtains.

The shadows fell across his face, waking him.

And at first he had no idea where he was – until he opened his eyelids and saw who was lying beside him. Watching him, with satisfied purple eyes.

“Morning, Jas. Did you dream of anyone last night?”

He sat up with a start.

“Yennefer!”

The images flooded back to him in an instant. The witcher’s unfair dismissal. The beers. The torn shirt. The blue flames. The weirdly sweet smell of whatever crazy spell she’d cast – before she’d fucked him senseless to the most extreme climax he’d ever experienced in his whole misbegotten life so far.

Fucking hell!

Panic swirled around him.

“Uh... I’m sorry, Yennefer. About last night. I mean – ”

She touched a hand to his shoulder, and stroked his bare skin. Fuck – he was still naked! Where were his clothes? Had she destroyed them all last night?

“Jas, it’s okay.”

“ – I didn’t... I wasn’t... taking advantage of you... I mean, we were drinking – ”

“Jas.”

She was pulling him backwards now – reeling him in while he was still trying to comprehend the terrible truth of what they’d done...

He fell back into her arms and found her staring at him.

“ – and... then you brought me up here, and...”

She was smiling at him.

“And..?”

She was reaching out a hand to touch him. He almost ducked away, but instead of striking him, she stroked her fingers through his hair.

He could only stare back at her in amazement.

“And... you’re not going to kill me?”

She laughed. And it sounded genuine, to his ears. It sounded _sad._

“Do I really scare you that much? Even now?”

He blinked, unsure what the correct response here was.

“Well, you know. You are a bit... _terrifying.”_

Her purple eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, worried she’d take offence.

“But you have lots of _nice_ qualities too!”

Her hand stroked lightly down the side of his face, past his collarbone. Her fingers rested on the patch of hair on his chest, just above his heart.

She was naked too. And close – so close to him in the sheets. But her skin was just out of reach of his, and he didn’t have the strength to move.

“You’re a man of many talents yourself. I never would have guessed it, bard.”

Was she coming on to him, now? Did she want an encore, before she kicked him out of bed and sent him packing? Was that it? After last night, she’d be lucky. He felt weak, even just lying here with her.

Especially just lying here with her.

But maybe it wasn’t so bad, really. Maybe _she_ wasn’t so bad. She was beautiful, and incredible, and terrifying, obviously – and she’d ruined his best shirt – but... she hadn’t _hurt_ him, had she?

She’d been nice. More than nice. She’d been the most incredible shag he’d ever had in his life, and she didn’t seem to want to throw him out of her bed now either.

It was all very... odd.

Maybe she didn’t hate him after all? Maybe he’d pleased her well enough to make her want another piece of him? He wouldn’t say no to some more of her. Not at all. And whatever could that even mean?

He stared back at her, and she must have seen his bewilderment, for she laughed. And moved herself closer. Her skin was finally touching against his now – with her dark hair tickling his shoulder. Her hand traced lazily down his torso and rested around his waist.

And part of him wanted to shut his eyes, and let her hold him like this. It would be so easy to do whatever she wanted, and not think straight – he didn’t want to think straight, not after yesterday and the witcher’s cruel rejection. And she was warm and soft – her lips brushed the skin on his throat and her breath sent shivers through him that made him remember how closely interwoven their bodies had been last night... and how easily they could regain that closeness again....

But he felt uneasy, all the same. Something bothered him about this. This wasn’t the way they normally were around each other. Whatever had happened to change things?

“What do you want with me, Yenn? Why are you being like this?”

She stiffened, and met his gaze with a harder look in her eyes.

“I wanted to show you a good time last night, Jaskier. And I did.”

He watched the smile grow slowly across her face and felt a creeping dread. There was more to it, wasn’t there? Some hidden agenda. There always was with her.

“And... that was very thoughtful of you, Yennefer. Thank you for your ministrations, in my time of need. But since when do you care?”

She looked him in the eye.

“I wanted to show our witcher too. And I did.”

His blood ran cold at the mention of the monster-hunter.

“You... what? What did you do, Yenn? What did you show him?”

She rolled away from him to lie on her back, not meeting his eyes. Her voice was nonchalant.

“I opened a channel into the witcher’s dreams, and made him watch us in bed last night.”

He blinked, hoping a punchline existed to her story. The words she would say at the end that would make it all seem sensible, or deliver the ending to the obvious joke that her comment had to be.

He waited, but the only response was his heart rate climbing – as his mind caught up with the meaning in her words. The entirely serious, yet completely insane thing that she so casually admitted to doing. That spell she’d been casting in the fire – with the open windows and the weird smoke –

He gasped in horror.

“You – you showed him... _us?_ Last night?”

Her face cracked into a grin.

“Yeah, I showed him. He saw everything. I’d say he was pretty pissed.”

There was a note of pride in her voice – she wasn’t even trying to hide it!

He sat up, his hands flying to his face. This couldn’t be happening! Had Geralt seen them together? Had he seen _him_ with Yennefer? In some fucked-up magical chaos that she’d concocted last night?

He felt the breath catch in his throat. Like the grave was opening up before him already.

“Oh, my word. I’m a dead man.”

She sat up beside him, pressing her body into his back. It was oddly comforting – even though it was all her fault. He should be angry with her, he should be furious – but he wasn’t.

Why wasn’t he? What was wrong with him? Had she cast a spell on him too?

She wrapped her arms around him, and whispered into his ear.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Jas. There’s nothing to fear.”

Nothing to fear!

He spun round, feeling his anxiety bubble to the surface.

“He’s going to _kill_ me, Yenn! He’s going to think I betrayed him – out of spite. As if he didn’t hate me enough before – now he’s going to think I’m as faithless as everyone always says!”

She still had him in her arms – she wasn’t letting him go, even though he was fidgeting to get free.

“No one’s going to kill anyone, Jas. Relax. When he gets here, just follow my lead, and – ”

A black dizzy spell shot though him.

“Wait, what? He’s coming here? _When_ is he coming here? Shit – I need _to go...”_

But she gripped him tighter – denying him escape, and brought her lips to his.

She kissed him – and in his desperation, he could only kiss her back. She was all he had now, and though he didn’t want to be her accomplice – or her prisoner – that aura of strength and confidence she had was the only thing he could cling on to.

Her lips offered protection.

She broke her kiss off and whispered to him.

“I know you don’t trust me, Jas. But just this once, please – I’m asking you to have faith in me. And to do exactly what I say.”

He shook his head in misery.

“I don’t have a choice, do I? Not now.”

She studied him with a half-smile, and squeezed him tighter.

“Not if you want to get your witcher back. And I know you do.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but really – what was the point? They both knew she was right. And he was suddenly intrigued. Whatever else was she planning to do? Did she think that instigating jealousy in the witcher’s heart would make him see the error of his ways – rather than make him reach for his sharpest of hunting knives to ram through Jaskier’s throat?

He wished he had her confidence.

“Did you plan this all along, Yennefer – as soon as you saw me at the bar? Just to get back at him?”

Her grip on him loosened.

“Does that bother you? Or would you prefer me to lie and tell you that I love you? That’s more your style, is it not?”

He shook his head at her, feeling irritation rise up to cover the wound her words left behind in their wake.

“That’s not fair. I’d never stitch anyone up like this! You’ve just used me to hurt him.”

“Jaskier, there’s a thousand ways I could hurt our mutual friend. I used you because I wanted to. I didn’t fuck you for the witcher. I fucked you because I wanted _you.”_

Those purple eyes of hers were on him, staring through him as if she could see all the way into his inner thoughts. As if she could see the spark of interest her words kindled in his mind – despite his denial and discomfort of the fact. She knew he wanted to believe it, damn her.

And although she was right – he was not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. Not on top of everything else.

“Well, Yenn. You got what you wanted. But you know what I’m like in these scenarios, and I’d hate to let your expectations down. So now it’s time for me to say goodbye, and leave you to it. Preferably before our _old friend_ makes an appearance.”

He extricated himself from her arms and made to get up from the bed.

Why was she smirking at him like that? Hadn’t she heard him? Didn’t she believe he was really going to leave?

He climbed to his feet, on unsteady legs but with a grim sense of relief to finally turn his back on her.

He would show her. He was out of here.

But as soon as he turned around, the door flew wide open.

It burst open on its hinges, splintering wood from the point where it had been kicked in by the large foot in the black leather boot.

Oh shit.

The crash had been loud enough to wake the dead... but there was something even worse than that in the doorway...

Shit shit shit!

The witcher had arrived, and into the room he stalked – scowling at them both as he took in their naked forms and the messed up bed.

He himself looked as if he had slept rather badly, and was in no mood for social pleasantries – but when was he ever?

Jaskier froze, as their eyes met across the empty threshold. Those amber eyes had never looked so cold and pitiless to him before.

Well, not since yesterday, anyway.

“Uh, Geralt... fancy seeing you here? Most people just knock.”

The witcher was clothed in his leathers – and the big steel sword was strapped across his back – fuck! Was he actually going to try and kill them with it? Was that why he’d come? He must be raging after Yennefer’s enforced voyeurism.

And if not to kill them, then why else would he have come here at this ungodly hour of morning to kick in the bedroom door?

“Geralt of Rivia, so nice of you to join us!”

Yennefer’s voice was soft and slippery like honeycomb.

And the witcher’s attention was drawn at once to the naked woman – reclining sweetly amidst the rumpled bedsheets.

_“You...”_

He strode right up to where the sorceress sat on the bed, and glared.

She blinked back with false innocence, and sat up straighter to give him a better view of her breasts.

“You’re a bit late, Geralt. Jas and me started the party last night. But he’s very energetic, as you well know. I’m sure if you fetched him a nice cup of tea he could get it up again, and this time you could watch us do it in the flesh?”

The witcher stared, eyes bulging with fury. And when he spoke, the words were steely and taught.

“What you did last night is your own business. Both of you. What you did means nothing to me, because I’m not interested in what either of you do, how you feel, or who you fuck. You can both go and fuck the entire Continent for all I care – just don’t involve me in any of the sordid details of your pathetic sex games – ever again.”

The icy words seeped into Jaskier’s veins, sending his blood running hotter with outrage. He was the only one here who meant nothing to the witcher – and the man couldn’t even be honest about it. He’d just come here for Yenn, hadn’t he? – to argue some more with her. Geralt just wanted to try and win her back – as she no doubt had planned all along.

And then he would be left with nothing from either of them, as ever.

But Yennefer of Vengerberg was undaunted.

“Oh, Geralt – you don’t have to be angry about this. You could be happy instead – happy with both of us. All you need to do is show us a bit of respect and we can all be friends together. And you would like that, wouldn’t you? It’s what you want. It could be _everything_ you want.”

She extended an arm out to him, and tugged at the sleeve of his leather coat.

“Me and Jas could make you very happy, Geralt. And if you don’t mind us sharing ourselves with the great, wide Continent – then why not share us with yourself too? Why not just admit that you were wrong to treat us badly, admit that you care about us, and let us both look after you?”

“Hmm.”

The witcher took a step back, removing his sleeve from Yennefer’s clutches, and turned his glaring eyes back onto Jaskier

“What’s your story, bard? Did you enjoy this joke as much as her? Was it all your idea to do it – to show me what you were doing together – or were you just too afraid of her to stop?”

Jaskier felt his throat tighten.

How could he even be accused of these things? It was all so insulting.

And his words were already tumbling out before he could stop them.

“I had no idea you could see us – and of course I wouldn’t have invaded your dreams if I’d known what she was doing! You made it quite clear to me yesterday that you wanted nothing more to do with me. And I have no intention of inflicting my company on you ever again, witcher. In dreams or otherwise.”

His cheeks were burning – and a light-headedness was spreading over him as he stood his ground in front of the witcher’s disbelieving stare. At least he’d had the decency to be honest. Whether that honesty was believed or not was just another layer of abuse that he was no longer prepared to accept.

“Fine by me, bard. When you fuck off this time, please stay fucked off.”

Jaskier glared back in fury. That was low – a new low, even by the callous words he’d come to expect from the witcher.

Fuck Geralt, fuck his insults, and fuck this whole situation!

He spied his trousers on the floor, on the far side of the bed. For once, Geralt was right – he should just fuck off – he should do it right now, and then the two of them could fight it out themselves and bring the whole house tumbling down for all he cared.

But as he made for his clothes, he saw Yennefer catch his eye and raise her brows.

“Well, Geralt. If you’re determined to be hostile to my poor Jaskier like this, then I’m afraid we’ll have to both bid you farewell.”

And with a meaningful smile aimed his way, the sorceress slid from the sheets and draped her naked form all around him – wrapping him inside her sensual embrace – and whispering a message direct in his ear.

“Remember what I said, Jas.”

Her hands reached out and took his – entwining his fingers around hers – and for a second he wanted to let those hands wrap around him and protect him from all the painful feelings welling up in his heart. To pull her close and weep into her warm, soft breasts, until she’d made him believe that someone out there still cared for his company. Or cared for _him._

Was she fucking with him again? Playing tricks on him with her magic?

Maybe. But he didn’t have the strength to fight against both of them. Not anymore.

He met her purple eyes and nodded his assent.

And she smiled then – just for him. He wanted to believe it was true.

He followed her gaze as she turned and stared back at the witcher – still frozen by the doorway, glaring over at both of them with thin lips and a rigid grimace. Like a vision of winter trying to freeze the budding spring.

“Goodbye, Geralt. It’s a shame it’s come to this – but maybe when Jas is gone you’ll realise what he means to you? But you let him go, and now he’s mine. And I’m taking him to the coast, to get away from you – so I can enjoy him without you spoiling it for us.”

He saw the witcher’s eyes widen in surprise – a surprise he felt himself. The coast? Yenn wanted to take him to the coast – now?

He watched as Yennefer pulled her dress on, and handed him his clothes with a smile.

Yes – maybe this _was_ what he wanted. Maybe this was exactly what he _needed._

His eyes slid back to the witcher, seeing his former friend outlined in black in the doorway – obviously unhappy with this new development. Geralt’s mouth opened and closed several times, as if he wanted to say something.

Those mutant amber eyes locked onto his with such intensity that it made Jaskier’s skin ache.

But still Geralt said nothing.

And finally he realised that Yennefer was right.

The witcher had lost him.

He’d lost him, and he didn’t even care enough to try to make their parting civil – even after all the years they’d spent together – the witcher would let him go now as a stranger.

It stung, and there was only one thing now he could say. He didn’t want to say it – and his voice could only whisper it – but the bitter words forced their way out, all the same.

“I’m fucking off now, Geralt. And this time I’ll stay fucked off for good. You can count on that.”

A strange breeze blew tendrils of brown hair across his eyes, hiding his vision of the witcher’s face. And from seemingly nowhere, the salty smell of the sea filled the tavern bedroom, against a crescendo of crying gulls and booming waves.

Yennefer had opened her portal.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, then pulled him towards the glowing bright circle of light that flooded into the bedroom. He could hear the rolling waves already – feel the heat of the sun pouring down on that distant shoreline...

... and as the sorceress pulled him onwards and through her portal, Jaskier’s eyes turned away from the sunshine and back into that gloomy vision of sadness in the corner of the tavern bedroom, even as the inches drifted to miles in the distance engulfing both realities.

He looked into the witcher’s cold eyes, and flinched. There was no love there – no feeling at all. It was better to look at the beach instead – and the warm sunlight and shimmering ocean currents – with white horse waves breaking clean and strong above the deep blue sea.

So he didn’t see Geralt leaping over the bed toward the portal at last – the words flowing freely from his mouth now that it was too late for anyone to hear them.

For the portal was already closing, and his friends were vanishing with it...

The only reminder of their presence at all in the room now was the faint smell of sweat, of sickly sweet cindered herbs and of the bright sea breeze that died off with a flutter.

“No, wait – don’t go...”

The witcher’s pleas fell flat and unheard in the lonely air, their desperate emotion as futile and directionless as all the grains of sand churned up and rolled around by the pummelling surf.

And all he could do was stare blindly into the hole in the air where the only two people he loved in the world had left him – and know that once again, he’d give anything to take back those wasted seconds and this time allow himself to scream at them that he cared for them. That he wanted to be with them night and day. That they shouldn’t ever be apart from him. That they should never _ever_ believe for a second that he didn’t love them with all his heart up to its very breaking point and beyond it into madness...

But he was too late.

And in his anger and hesitation he’d lost them both all over again.

And now he had no idea how this damage could ever be undone...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this weekend I have a bit more free time than usual so I’m going to try and push things along here now. My goal is to update twice with two brand new chapters, but we’ll see how far I get with that tomorrow! :) For now, chapter ten sticks with Geralt as he realises the extent of his terrible mistake, and wonders what can be done to salvage things with Yenn and Jaskier. His first instinct is that everything is completely FUBAR, but he’s feeling a bit more positive about his chances by the end of the chapter and is determined to make it third time lucky with his long-suffering friends.

The linen curtains flapped in the morning breeze, splitting shadows through the witcher’s vision in the empty bedroom.

The people he loved were gone, and so he had no reason to stay here now – no reason at all.

Their portal had closed, their sunshine had faded, and even the air they’d left behind seemed somehow sadder and more lifeless without their vital energies running through it.

And yet, he found he couldn’t leave.

A phantom scent of them still lingered on in the room – Yenn’s lilac and gooseberries, mixed in with a trace of vinegary linseed oil from Jaskier’s hands – and the witcher wasn’t ready to give it up just yet. It was all he had left of them. Their ghostly presence was clinging to the sheets, hanging in the air – the same air that they’d been breathing only seconds before – and he had the sudden fancy that maybe they were just out of sight, in another room somewhere – out of his reach only for the moment.

But maybe they would come back, if he waited long enough. If he wished hard enough, and believed it well enough.

It was a comforting thought, but he knew better than to indulge it. That way madness only lay – and it would be a lonely madness, without Yenn’s smiles or Jaskier’s music to bring him back to his senses.

They’d both gone – and they were not coming back.

There was nothing for him here now. Nothing except Roach, still stabled in the back. He would find her and head south – it was the only direction of travel from here in the mountains, after all.

He would avoid at all costs any roads leading to the coast.

He would not see his friends again.

He took a final look around the room – committing the scene to memory for one last time – and trod forlornly through the doorway and down the stairs, hearing the thud of each of his boots on the bare wooden floorboards. The sound of one single set of feet – with no one following beside him. Just his own heavy tread. Listless, and alone.

No one stirred in the tavern at all.

And out the back, in the stables, he felt brief respite at the sight of his last remaining companion. He still had one friend left that he could rely on, and the thought was enough to bring him a sad smile.

But Roach nodded and snorted at him in retort, tossing her head in a gesture that looked suspiciously like disapproval to him.

Maybe she had heard the whole fight from down here? Or maybe she was missing Jaskier and his illicit stash of sugarlumps already.

He frowned, bowing his head and stroking his hands through her silky mane.

She had a disappointment coming her way if that was the case.

“He’s gone, Roach. Gone off with Yennefer. They’ve found a better place. They don’t want to be with us anymore.”

The horse shook her head again and hissed.

She must know that it was all his fault. She knew him better than anyone, after all. Knew he must have destroyed things, like he always did.

It was the only thing he ever did. It was the only thing he knew.

“I’m sorry, Roach. I should have stopped him. I didn’t want him to go. And I should have told him that. But he’ll be happier this way. You know he could never be happy with me.”

The horse ducked her head out of his grasp, rejecting his attempts at apology. And his excuses.

He sighed.

“Come on then, let’s go. There’s nothing here for either of us.”

He led her out of the stables, wondering whether she was in a foul enough mood to nip at him if he tried to ride her. Not that he minded. Everyone else had already let loose on him this morning – why shouldn’t his trusty steed have her pound of flesh too?

It was all he deserved.

He took one last look back at the tavern – in the vain hope that either of them might have come back, and were watching at the upstairs window behind that trailing gauzy curtain...

But no one was there.

And by now, the breeze would be exorcising the last traces of his friends from the air in that room. The thought made him turn away in sorrow.

The only place now where he could ever feel them again would be untold miles away, in some unknown location on a nameless white sand beach that he’d never be able to find even if he wanted to try.

No more lilac and gooseberries on his pillow from where Yenn’s black hair had lain. No more watching Jaskier’s fingers rub the linseed oil onto his lute and imagining...

_Jaskier’s lute._

Where was it, exactly?

The witcher stopped dead in his tracks.

Jaskier hadn’t had it with him this morning – it hadn’t been in his hand when he’d stepped through the portal with Yenn. It hadn’t been in the room at all, in fact.

So where was it? What could have happened to it? The mountains would all melt into black sticky tar before Jaskier would knowingly leave Filavandrel’s gift behind.

He must have forgotten it. He must have left it somewhere. Somewhere... where he was drinking last night, perhaps?

The witcher frowned.

“Roach, we have to go back.”

The mare snorted.

“I think Jaskier left his lute in there. If it’s in that tavern... we should find it for him.”

The mare halted midstride, and turned to look at the inn herself for a second.

She sidled around, heading straight back the way she’d come, and Geralt smiled. Evidently the bard was still in her favour. And Roach obviously understood that if they had the lute, then Jaskier could never be too far away.

They came to a halt outside the building again, but this time they would be quick. There was no need to tether Roach – and Geralt was anxious to hurry somehow. As if every passing second was now separating him from some reunion he could make with Jaskier – where he could present the musician with the instrument, and finally properly apologise for upsetting the man he loved so much that he had ever even lost it in the first place.

The inside of the tavern was as dark as he’d left it, with no sign of the lute lying around on any of the bar chairs or under the tables. He was uncertain what to do – until he heard a noise upstairs. Someone was moving around up there. Someone who might have taken the lute, or would know who had it.

He shot up the staircase, forcing himself to keep his sword sheathed at his back. This was no time for threats, however desperate he felt inside.

And at the top of the landing, there was only a young blonde woman with her arms full of laundered sheets – walking right into Yenn and Jaskier’s room.

She saw him stalking up the stairs and nearly dropped the linens.

“Who are you?”

It was definitely wise to have stayed his sword. He tried to look less menacing, and grappled for the right words.

The woman blanched at the sight of him.

“I’m a... _friend_ of some guests you had last night. You must work here?”

The woman fixed him with wide blue eyes. Taking in his white hair, his black leathers and no doubt the heavy weapon attached to his back. Fuck.

It wouldn’t be like this if he still had Jaskier. The bard wouldn’t have terrified this woman – he would have been warm and charming, and coaxed the truth right out of her.

The only thing it looked like the witcher was going get out of her was a scream.

“What does it look like? And what help do you want?”

He wondered where to even begin.

Maybe he should try to be more like the bard. Could he really do it? Put this woman at her ease by being as friendly as Jaskier?

He tried to force the hinges of his mouth up into a beguiling smile.

The woman only flinched.

“My friends were staying in that room – the one you’re cleaning. One of them – the man – he would have been carrying a lute."

He saw the woman’s face shift as he spoke, relaxing slightly. She knew exactly what he was referencing, it was written clearly all over her face – and in the faraway glint that appeared in her eyes.

She’d obviously met Jaskier then.

“Oh yes. _Him._ I remember him. He seemed nice – but then he got speaking to that rich woman. He left that lute at the bar last night, when he came _up here_ with her. She one of your friends too?”

The witcher nodded, unable to trust his voice to answer correctly.

“She is? Well! She’s left without paying for her room, would you believe it? And her with her fancy clothes. She’s left me with nothing to show for the board – and a big boot mark in the bedroom door!”

Geralt pursed his lips. It was an awkward situation – but at least this woman was happy to blame Yennefer for everything. Maybe that was the most diplomatic approach, if not the most honest one.

“I’m sorry. My friend can be... forgetful, at times. How much does she owe you?”

The woman frowned, counting on her fingers.

“Thirty marks, and another ten for all the ale that pair put away last night. It’ll come out of my wages thanks to her.”

The witcher reached for his purse.

“And where is the lute?”

The woman nodded conspiratorially.

“It’s a funny thing that – it looks really old. Looks like it’s really worth something. Looks like maybe I should just keep it – and you keep your coins. Serve your friends right.”

The witcher shook his head.

“I’m afraid it only has sentimental worth. It was a gift. From a happier time. And my friend will be heartbroken without it.”

The woman smiled at the thought.

“How heartbroken?”

Geralt shrugged.

“The other woman – she doesn’t like him playing it. If he could be reunited with it, then maybe things will take their natural course between them.”

The woman grinned, and Geralt extended his hand – with all the money he owned.

“Well, wouldn’t that be _sad._ We must reunite your friend with his lute at once. And you can tell him I kept it specially hidden for him, just in case he came back. Let me get it for you...”

And with a sigh of relief, the witcher followed the woman down the stairs and into a little storeroom, where he was rewarded with the sight of the precious antique instrument that Jaskier was no doubt already pining for.

The bard was probably more upset about the loss of his lute than his witcher.

But hopefully, if Geralt’s plan came together, Jaskier would soon be reunited with both of them.

Geralt thanked the woman and assured her that he would pass on her warmest regards to his musical friend. And as he stepped out into the morning sunshine, for once the whole world seemed to brim with possibility and promise.

He had a plan, he had a direction of travel, and now he had a hope.

Didn’t he?

He waved the lute case at Roach with a grin, and she whinnied back in approval.

“That was the easy part – now we need to hurry and find them. I don’t know where they are, but if we head south we’ll be closer to them than we are here.”

The witcher sat back in the saddle, some small spark of optimism now burning faint in his heart that maybe – just maybe – this time it wasn’t too late after all.

This time he would fix things.

And wherever they were, whatever they were doing – he would find them. Whether it took him days, weeks or months – he would reach them. He would get to Yenn and Jaskier as quickly as he could, and close this aching gap between their lives without delay.

And sensing his mood, Roach increased her pace.

He wanted to be there with them already. He wanted to know they were alright. He wanted to run his hands through Yenn’s black hair and kiss her neck. He wanted to look into Jaskier’s eyes and see happiness again.

He stared into the bright light of the morning sun, and swore that it would be so. On his own life, he swore it – and then he wondered why he ever did such a thing.

Did he expect trouble, on the way – was that it? Or did he expect trouble for his friends, wherever they were? The idea disturbed him in some way that he couldn’t explain.

For surely even Yenn and Jaskier couldn’t run into trouble at the beach? And Yenn was a sorceress – she could fight her own battles.

The witcher shivered in the warm sunshine, and urged Roach on faster.

The sooner he found his friends, the better for all of them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, in the interests of jumpstarting the plot to move Geralt on from his endless self-loathing and lamentation and back into the arms of the people who love him – I have you a wee midweek chapter. I’m written quite a few chapters ahead now to get my story straight, so hopefully the next couple should flow into each other quite fast, and things should start happening. The tone is going to change a bit and become a bit darker, basically because I decided I needed to introduce some monsters for Geralt to slay (“external antagonists”) in order to prove his worth to the people he loves.
> 
> This chapter starts off with Yennefer sunning herself on a nice beach with Jaskier, but takes a turn for the worse towards the end because I need to set up some bad guys with evil intentions to remind Geralt’s runaway lovers that there are in fact much worse things out there than their witcher’s grasp of human emotion...

The afternoon heat was building, even here on the dunes beside the waves. If she made the mistake of walking off without her boots on, she knew from painful experience that the white hot sand would scorch the soles of her feet.

As if she needed another reason to remain here, on the woollen blanket, with Jaskier by her side.

They’d come to the beach to cool down. The apartment they’d found to rent on the high street grew too hot in these summer afternoons, and the people in the market square seemed strangely sombre and moody. It had been her idea to come here – it was one place that Geralt would never look – and the beach was wild and wonderful, even if the faded town had seen better days.

She’d sensed that Jaskier would have preferred somewhere glamorous, further to the south with casinos and busy merchant emporia. Maybe even somewhere he could buy a new lute. But he hadn’t complained, and she wondered whether he cared at all where he was – as long as he was far away from the witcher.

She rolled over, trying to avoid the sun’s fiery glare – and rested her eyes on the bard’s sleeping face.

And even now, she resisted the desire to reach out and stroke his cheek.

His eyelids were fluttering in some dream, and he couldn’t see her watching him – so why did her heart beat faster to look at him? Why did she care to wonder what pictures were flitting through his mind, and whether she was perhaps in one of them?

It was all Geralt’s fault this, for confusing her so – with his door-splitting, monster-hunting muscles, and his cavalier grasp of what-not-to-say in an argument with the people you love. If he hadn’t been so cruel to Jaskier back in the tavern, she would have sworn that her spell would have worked on them both.

The real spell – the one she’d fucked Jaskier for in the first place in order to cast.

The one to switch their roles in Geralt’s djinnie love curse.

To set herself free, and let the two of them finally come together and find whatever joy it was that they wanted in each other.

All she’d needed was for them to touch one another – and to touch her, and then the spell would have been complete. She was sure she’d done everything right. She’d added herself and Jaskier’s energy into firing the spell, and all she’d needed to complete it was the witcher himself.

And it should have all been so easy! She just hadn’t banked on Geralt of Rivia and his multi-faceted social dysfunctionalism turning down the idea of hot sex with his two favourite people. Whatever on earth was wrong with him? The man was impossible – utterly impossible.

The witcher had shot himself in the foot, cut Jaskier’s heart to ribbons, and shattered her own chance of freedom in the same way that he’d smashed his way in through the bedroom door with a face like a bag of spanners.

Thinking about it still made her want to scream.

And if it hadn’t been for Jaskier, maybe she would have.

She returned her eyes to the man lying next to her, and saw his face crease into a frown.

Wordlessly, he groaned.

A bad dream? Again?

He must have been thinking about his witcher then. The thought of Geralt of Rivia was enough to give anyone nightmares. And she knew very well that Jaskier had been sleeping badly of late. With his lute now lost, he could no longer play his music. And with his witcher gone, he no longer sang any songs. Without both of them, he was oddly muted by day – and all too strung up by night.

And she was proving to be a poor substitute for whatever he was lacking, for all her magical prowess.

She allowed herself to touch him at last, bringing her hand to his head and smoothing it through his hair.

He groaned again – louder this time. Maybe she should rescue him from Geralt’s hauntings and bring him back to the living?

“Jas, wake up. It’s okay.”

His eyelids shot open in shock, and locked right onto hers.

She smiled for him, and noted with some pleasure how he reached out to hold her – pulling her closer and leaning into her embrace.

“Yenn – you’re okay...”

His voice was thick with relief, and she let him nuzzle into her body. Evidently he had been dreaming about her after all. But the effect wasn’t as gratifying as she’d imagined it might be – had he been having nightmares about _her?_

“You’re alright, Jas. It was just a dream. There’s nothing to worry about.”

There was an disturbing softness to her voice. She sounded comforting. Caring.

But it was only to make her own life easier that she cared enough to comfort him like this – she was sure of it. The last thing she wanted was for him to have these bad dreams night after night and wake her up. It was hard enough to sleep in this sticky summer heat as it was – no matter how much she and Jaskier tired each other out before the candles burned low...

There was a tremor in his voice from his latest troubles.

“It was dark, Yenn. It was dark everywhere. We were trapped. We couldn’t get out. And there was something in the dark with us – something bad...”

She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Felt her fingers hesitate before letting him go.

“Shh, it’s all gone now. Look how bright the sun is, Jas. We’ve got the whole afternoon ahead of us, and we can do whatever we want. You don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

He stared into her eyes, dazzling her all over again with how wide and guileless they were. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated – and she found she would resist him no longer.

She took his face in her hands, and let her lips meet his.

And the sun could have gone dark for all she cared in that moment. Until she felt his hand on her waist, tracing over the cotton sundress she’d bought in the market. His hands knew how to untie this one well enough by now – and she almost wished he would, except...

Except for how much it bothered her.

How much she wanted it – this man’s love and affection. How much she wanted _him._

She would belong to no man – especially not a man whose emotions flowed like water and who was himself in love with the man she loved herself. It was madness, complete and utter madness.

Men like Jaskier were good for one thing, and one thing only. And she would do well to remember that.

But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t enjoy him now, in the sunshine, while he was still here beside her.

Once she summoned Geralt to them and the witcher found them again, she would hopefully be free for good. She would be in control of her own mind once more. She would have no need to see Geralt or Jaskier ever again.

But should she contact the witcher yet? What if Jaskier didn’t want her to bring him here? Should she do it anyway, behind his back? Wouldn’t he feel betrayed when he found out?

But would that betrayal even matter if Geralt made him happy again?

It confused her. Why did she care what they wanted? She had her own feelings to consider.

Her love of the witcher was magically induced – an unreal feeling that she had no desire to indulge – but it was still there. Her spell had not yet attached that love to where it belonged. Was she being blinded by her feelings and making some awful mistake?

It was all so maddening. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she just be happy here with Jas? The sky was blue and their white sand beach was deserted. The silent townspeople were all working in the fields, or shopping at the market. There was nobody to disturb them here at all.

She had Jaskier all to herself, and his hand was already unhooking the back of her dress...

He needed her like she needed him. They were bound together now. And there was no need to deny what she wanted.

She reached out for him, kissing him with an alarming passion – but the taste of him alone wasn’t enough to satisfy her.

He knew what she wanted now – he’d learned very quickly – and was happy to oblige. He pulled the dress over her head as quickly as she dispensed with his shirt – and when she unlaced his trousers and felt for him, he was hard and ready for her.

The heat of the sun on her bare skin filled her with fire.

And maybe it had a similar effect on him.

He was staring at her now with a knowing smile on his face. A smile she’d seen before and come to appreciate – she didn’t need her magic to read his thoughts right now.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Yenn. Every part of you.”

His eyes were all over her, as he pushed her down onto the blanket. Before she knew what he was doing, his hand was parting her legs – touching her in a way that made her hold her breath and cling to him tighter.

But he knew she wanted more than that.

He slipped free of her clutches, and bent down over her.

She felt his lips on her now, kissing her. Tasting her with his tongue, and teasing the most sensitive part of her with wicked enthusiasm.

He knew what he was doing so exquisitely well – she could only close her eyes and enjoy the wanton pleasure of his mouth on her body, as the sea lapped foamy over the wet white sand.

Whoever had trained him to do this had done her work well. Or maybe he was just a natural? Maybe he just wanted to please her?

Maybe he was starting to care for her after all? And what would she think about that, really?

The idea made her head spin. They were both of them too clever for that, surely.

“Jas, what do you want from me?”

The words were out of her mouth before she’d had time to think any better.

He stroked his fingers down the inside of her thigh.

“Is this a trick question?”

She giggled. Was it? What was she asking him?

She was just curious, all of a sudden – curious to know what he wanted from her. What he needed from her. Before she let herself go and enjoyed his attentions, this time she needed to know.

“If Geralt of Rivia was to turn up here, and apologise to you right now, what would you do? Would you leave me, and go away with him?”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, and felt him pulling away from her.

He sat up – wounded now, and studied her with serious eyes.

“Why are you asking me this? He’ll never find us here.”

There was mistrust in his voice now. There always was whenever the witcher was mentioned. Their whole existence in the little coastal town was based on their mutual desire to escape their love of Geralt – and yet a single reference to him was all that it took to crack the fledgling faith between them.

How far did she want to push the bard today?

How much upset did she want to cause him this time, before she would stop blaming it on Geralt and admit her own feelings were becoming a problem?

She sat up beside him, and followed his eyes out to sea. The big white rollers were moving rapidly to shore – bursting over themselves with a violence that surprised her on such a calm and clear day.

Maybe there was a storm out at sea, far away from here. Some hidden squall of clouds and swirl of rain that would sweep them off their feet when it made landfall. It was impossible to say – the horizon looked blue and serene from her beachside vantage point. Unless she looked to chaos for the answer.

She put an arm round Jaskier’s shoulders, and ignored the urge she had to reach into his mind with her magic. She was unwilling to use that tool on him these days. She was unsure what she might find inside the man’s thoughts, and how it would affect her to know his secrets.

“You’re right, Jas. He won’t come here. He’ll never find us. But what if he did? Would you still be angry with him? Even if he was sorry, and apologised to you?”

He was stiff and sullen in her arms.

“He’ll never apologise, Yenn. You know what he’s like. All this time I thought he cared... but he never did. I was never his friend. So what is there to apologise for?”

His words were so full of bitter sadness. It sounded so wrong, coming from the mouth of someone who once was so joyful.

She wanted to give him that happiness back again.

The bard’s blue eyes were focused out at sea, on the tumbling waves. Not on her. He was as far away as ever, now the spectre of Geralt had loomed in between them both. And she was as powerless to heal this hurt for him as she was to still the wide-running tides of the ocean.

There was only one thing she could do for him if she truly cared. She had her answer now, whether she liked it or not.

She must tell the witcher where they were.

She would have him ride here on his horse, to explain himself to Jaskier face to face. She would tell Geralt what he needed to say, what he needed to do. And she would force the pair of them to talk this time, until they understood one another, and had healed their self-inflicted wounds and got over this stupid quarrel.

The love she bore for these two men gave her no alternative: the only way to find her own freedom and happiness was to seek it through theirs.

She reached up and slid her fingers through his messy hair, hoping to impart some quiet hope in him. They were not far from the mountains. And Geralt could be here very soon if he chose to be.

As much as it pained her to admit it, she needed the witcher’s help. Jaskier needed his help. And the sooner that Geralt was reunited with them both, the better it would be for all of them...

She would summon him tonight, when the moon was high.

And he would come to this town and set them all free.

*** *** *** *** ***

A heat haze was shimmering over the cracked, parched streets when the man and woman left the sand dunes.

They were holding hands, as ever, and the woman’s beauty smouldered on like the afternoon heat, long after they’d passed their watcher and ventured into their apartment.

The watcher lingered on the silent street corner, looking out to sea.

How much coin was a man’s life worth?

It was a question he asked himself whenever matters like this came up. Matters of life and death – other people’s life and death – they brought out the amateur philosopher in his inner musings. There was little else to do, not when he was appointed to watch his targets and track their movements for days on end.

It was at once the most boring part of the job, and the cleanest. What his master did with those people afterwards was not clean, perhaps. But then it was no concern of his. His master was the authority, and people needed to respect authority. Otherwise they would be punished. And that was their fault, not his.

He was just the vehicle for that punishment. And if he made good coin from his work, then what of it? A man’s life had a value in coin like everything else. Although the exact amount depended on the man, of course. Or the woman.

And this man and woman would make all his efforts worthwhile.

He’d been watching them since they arrived in town – his master liked to be informed of all comings and goings, and this man’s face was familiar. In his line of work it always paid to mind a noble face, no matter how far from the tree the apple had fallen.

The woman was different. Something else. She’d been unknown to him, at first, but he’d had his suspicions. It was apparent from a glance that she was no ordinary visitor. And after asking the right people the right questions, he’d found out all about her as well. What she was responsible for. And how much coin she might be worth – to the right kind of buyer.

His master would pay a pretty penny for her life – as would many others.

And many nobles would toss a coin for this man’s death – his master especially.

And from his careful observations, he knew exactly how to extract that value from this sorry pair of travellers. To turn their lives into gold in his pocket.

He was an alchemist, of sorts.

He watched the man and the woman strolling from the beach to their little apartment and smiled. They were too wrapped up in their cares to even notice him. And they had no chance of avoiding the strange alchemy that awaited them.

He would be counting his coin, and their lives would be transformed.

Into a fearful, final, and fatal debasement from which they would never escape.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We join Yennefer as she magically intrudes on another of Geralt’s dreams with a message for him. And our witcher is not especially amused to learn the location of the town that his runaway lovers have chosen to visit...

The candle was lit, and the window was open onto darkness. No breeze stirred through the sultry night air to flicker the flame – their rented apartment was hot and humid, and the sea breeze had stilled now the sun had set on the little coastal town.

Beside her under a thin cotton sheet, Jaskier slept soundly for once. She traced a hand down the bare skin of his back, detecting nothing that suggested he might waken anytime soon.

Their third bottle of wine at dinner had seen to that.

And now she had all the opportunity she needed to call to the witcher – wherever he dwelt out there in the inky blue night. He must still be in the northern lands, somewhere between the ocean and the high peaks where they’d left him all those days ago.

She would find him and bring him here.

She took her candle to the open window, and sat on the ledge. The moon was waxing full in the sky – bright enough to extinguish the summer stars and strong enough to send the currents of chaos spinning wild and stark in her mind.

Yennefer of Vengerberg smiled in the dark, and drew her thoughts inside to focus on her quarry.

Where was the witcher right now? Did the moon know it? Could she see him with her yellow eye and reflect the vision through her chaos?

She stared into the candle and felt his presence at once before her – the fiery flame saw what the moon could see and shone the picture straight into her mind’s eye.

The witcher was sleeping alone, in a ruined stone cottage beside a road – and only a few days’ journey north of here. She’d suspected he probably wouldn’t be too far away. He was unlikely to have lingered in the mountains for long, and from there all roads running south passed near to this place.

He was sleeping on the grass amongst the ruined walls, his white hair gleaming from the silvery moonbeams that shone above.

It was time to make herself known in his dreams.

_Geralt of Rivia, I see you’re sleeping well these days._

She felt his sense of shock – and momentary alarm – before his mind reached out to meet hers in recognition. He tried and failed to hold on to her... as she’d so desperately hoped that he might. And without any words, his emotions were revealed to her all-seeing gaze.

He still loved her. Still wanted her. She could sense the desire from him. But there was sadness and loneliness in his thoughts – and confusion abounding.

He was confusing _her_ just by being so close.

She took a step back from him, keeping her distance. He would have to work to earn her love and forgiveness, for she wouldn’t just give them to him. Not for nothing.

_Yenn? Where are you?_

She laughed at his question, though it delighted her heart that he’d missed her so. She just wondered how he would react to her answer. He’d hurt her too much for her to be merciful. But it was hardly the time for open confrontation between them now...

_I’m with Jaskier, at the coast. Don’t you remember us going?_

That bitter scowl of his face loomed into view. Not even the vibrant strands of chaos could hide its dismal sourness.

_I remember. You left through a portal. But where are you now? I need to speak to you._

She considered. But there was no point in hiding it. Unless...

Unless she blamed it on the bard instead – that way there would be less chance of the witcher’s anger challenging her own.

_We’re in a little town near Blaviken, Geralt. Jas didn’t think you’d ever find him round here. So this is where we came._

It was a blow that caught him by surprise.

Blaviken.

He hadn’t been expecting to hear that word. The witcher’s thoughts gave way to purest chaos for a moment, with all his warring emotions plain for her to see. Although which one would dominate in the end was anyone’s guess.

He collected himself into coherence with obvious effort.

_You went to that place? With Jas?_

There was an accusation in his words. An insinuation of betrayal. As if he had any right to presume any loyalty from her and Jaskier – who did he think he was?

But the last thing she wanted here was another battle.

She would have to crush him first before she lost her temper.

_Not quite, Geralt. But if you want to find us, the only road is through that town. This place is called Loklorn, and it’s the only beach where Jas thought he’d be safe from you. You really upset him, you know. You need to come here and make things right._

There was silence from the witcher. But she knew he would not resist the lure – the one thing he couldn’t stand was Jaskier being hurt. It was something else they had in common now.

_I’m sorry for that. I need to see him. I’ve been travelling south to find you both. But that place..._

Had she heard him right? Had he really just apologised?

_You’re coming here? You’re on your way now?_

_I’m travelling south. I want to mend things with him. With you both. I shouldn’t have let you go like that – I tried to stop you. But Yenn, you shouldn’t be there..._

She felt a stirring of hope. He regretted them being gone. He missed them both. Maybe he’d learned the value of words and diplomacy at last then? Maybe the happy reunion she’d envisaged between the three of them might still happen yet...

_We’ll be in the coach house, Geralt. It’s a big white building, with tables on the beach. We sit out every evening on the sand._

_It’s another two days’ ride, Yenn. I’ll arrive the day after tomorrow. Unless the locals stone me for good on my travels this time._

She almost smiled at the thought.

_Just keep your head down and ride quickly, Geralt. Nobody is going to stop you. I’ll be waiting for you with Jas. He doesn’t know you’re coming. You better have something nice to say to him this time, or I don’t think he’ll speak to either of us again._

She felt a sadness from him – and something else too. An acid sense of shame stung through the witcher’s mind.

_Those things I said – it wasn’t fair. It won’t be like that next time, Yenn. I won’t be like that. I won’t let you down._

She felt his sense of resolve, and it reassured her – somewhat.

_Good. See that you don’t. I’ll be expecting you the day after tomorrow then._

_I’ll do my best, Yenn. Be careful out there..._

She snapped her mind shut on him at once, lest he see too clearly into her own thoughts.

And as the candle and bedroom came back into view, the air itself seemed stirred and shaken – more so than when she’d sat down to her witchcraft.

She’d really done it now. The witcher was on his way here.

She glanced back at Jaskier asleep under the sheet, and saw his face flicker in some new nightmare. And blowing the candle out, she crept back into bed beside him, and left a kiss on the man’s bare throat – thinking of their witcher and his promise.

Wondering if this time he’d be true to his word.

And wondering whatever was she going to do with these two men when Geralt finally got here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is a wee bit late up – it has actually been written for a while (as are the next couple of chapters), it just needed some editing. But unfortunately there have been a few more *pressing* things to attend to this week (I’m sure it’s the same for all you guys!). 
> 
> I don’t want to talk current affairs or anything on AO3, but wherever you are in the world, please do look after yourselves, your families and your communities right now – and follow the latest advice from the medical professionals. We’re all in this shitty situation together and it’s with each other’s help that we’ll get through it all too. Stay safe, all of you.
> 
> Anyway, I’ll get the next chapters brushed up and posted up as soon as I can :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this update is something of a double chapter – although both sections are linked together. They’re meant to be happening more or less simultaneously as the sun goes down. 
> 
> In the first part we catch up with Geralt, who’s now on the road to finding his friends after his Yenn-sent dream the night before, and is still feeling a bit annoyed at where they’ve chosen to hang out. So he’s not so happy. And in the second part, Jaskier is brooding on his life post-witcher – despite the best efforts of Yennefer to cheer him up. He’s not very happy either. 
> 
> And unfortunately, Jaskier is going to have even more reason to be unhappy by the end of this particular scene... and so is Yenn :/

He’d woken all alone under silvery moonbeams, Yenn’s purple eyes smiling brightly in his memory – along with those cursed words upon her lips.

_Butcher –_

He’d ridden all through the night, while the pale moon had watched him silently. Judgingly.

They said that the moon knew in her soft silvery heart what all lovers feel, and if that was so, then maybe she pitied him – for the ocean of woes he carried with him every step of the way must be known to her. Each of those pains was a relic of his broken loves, and with every step he felt their loss, their absence – and the chill memory of what he’d done to send them away.

But maybe the moon’s haughty gaze was less than kind. Maybe she watched him with scorn, knowing full well in her remote luminescence every harsh word that he’d spoken to break the hearts of those vital souls that she cherished like her children.

Maybe she judged him harshly like all the rest.

_Butcher of –_

He didn’t have any answers to his crimes, and so he’d ridden on and slept while the sun came up – before pressing on again – because with every sprawling mile he closed between the mountains and the sea, a growing sense of uneasiness urged him to quicken his pace and arrive without delay.

He needed to find Yenn and Jaskier. He needed to know they were safe, and okay.

So south he’d rode on – on through the midday sun and the blasting afternoon heat – without breaking for rest.

For a long time the road had taken him south, but all journeys must come to an end – and finally he came to the crossroads, and there he saw it – drenched in the red of the evening sunlight.

The name of the town he’d long since fled and never thought to see again, emblazoned in capital letters on the dried out, sun-bleached signpost.

_Butcher of Bl –_

He’d never planned on coming down this forked crossing after what had happened last time. After he’d killed the first person he’d loved through his own failure. And she’d been right, all along, ever since.

That girl in the woods was with him always.

He’d never ask for forgiveness for his mistake – for what he’d done was unforgivable. But his one gesture of atonement was to leave the dead to rest in peace. Not to come marching down their streets and alleys to dredge up the ghosts of the vanished past.

He didn’t want to be here – looking at the rocky road winding west to the sea – and he didn’t want to go back there – to the nameless town of his own worst nightmares, which brooded on the shapeless void of the water and waited for his return.

To even speak its godforsaken name aloud was a hex on his soul.

And sensing his unease, Roach lingered at the cross, waiting for his signal that it was safe to proceed down that sunlit western road, where the evening shadows grew long and hazy in the still, muggy air.

What danger could there be through such unassuming countryside?

The witcher closed his eyes, as if trying to smell the future. Of everything that might come to pass if he stepped down that fateful road. Would the townsfolk remember him? Would they try to stop his travel? Would there be trouble – trouble for his friends even if he went down there? For it was only for their sakes that he would go there at all.

They had no idea what they’d done, in coming to this accursed place.

They had no idea what they were asking him to do, in coming here.

Perhaps it would be best if he disappeared south into the oncoming darkness, and left them to whatever fate awaited them without his doomed love.

He almost believed it. He almost _wanted_ to believe it.

He almost gave the command to Roach to turn away from that fiery light in the orange sky and keep left. To leave and let his past die in the west with all his bitter memories of failure drowned in the deep black ocean.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave them there, all alone, in that terrible place.

His mistake with Renfri had been not to try, and not to get involved. Not to listen to his heart.

He’d failed her, and she was dead because of it.

_Butcher of Blaviken_

And he would not make that same mistake again.

He would not fail Yennefer. He would not fail Jaskier. He loved them more than the light of the sun, and he would face whatever evil his haunted past could conjure to see them live happily again.

For either one of them, he would suffer a thousand stonings in the hateful streets of Blaviken – and eternal baleful apparitions of the revenant dead could never frighten him away from the place where they waited for him.

“This way, Roach. We head west now.”

He rubbed her neck as she turned to the right, and gripped his hand in her glossy mane for good luck as the two of them took the fork in the road together.

Facing west now, the amber eyes of the witcher met the fire of the sky head on, and the road ahead shone gold for once as the course of the future began to set fast like the glinting sun...

...and a little bit further to the west, the same golden rays glinted blue in the eyes of a heartsick bard...

Their beachside table had a commanding view, between the glittering surf and the rosy sand dunes by the town. The coach house they came to every evening was well situated to catch the dusky light, and this sunset was spectacular. His beautiful, magical friend had been smiling at him as sultry as she ever did – before she’d gone to the bar to fetch more beer.

But even with all these blessings Jaskier still didn’t feel like admiring the sky tonight.

He didn’t feel like doing anything – except drinking, and losing himself in Yennefer. Same as every night they’d spent in this strange little seaside town this past couple of weeks.

The beauty of the ocean sunset only drained him, and made him feel like a shadow of his old self. The sky was summoning all the spectred memories of his past to the surface, where they would wrap their chains around his heart and sink him to the bottom of the sea.

What was there left? All his adult life, he’d adored the witcher. Trusted in him, idolised him – cherished him.

He’d been proud to call Geralt of Rivia his friend, no matter what anyone else thought about the silver haired mutant. He’d loved Geralt. He’d _believed_ in him.

And somewhere – somewhere hidden deep inside the witcher’s cobwebby mind, of course – he’d believed that Geralt loved him back. That they were a team. That they were – at the very least – friends.

(that they were actually much, much more than friends – and eventually they would have to admit it to each other because that’s what happened in all the songs and stories, wasn’t it?)

But he’d been blind, and foolish. And all his friends who’d judged him over the years – they’d all been right, hadn’t they? The Countess de Stael had tried to warn him about the witcher – before she’d given up and replaced him with that talentless fraud Valdo Marx. He should have listened to her, all those years ago. Even Valdo had laughed at him when he’d set off looking for Geralt.

Because the witcher had never cared – everyone had known it. The witcher didn’t have feelings – everyone had told him. And the witcher did not and never would return his love.

All of his trust was gone now. All of his beliefs had been a lie.

His whole life had been a lie. Was he a lie? What was he? Just a fool?

He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t have any music. He didn’t have any songs. And he didn’t have any desire to think too hard about anything. He just wanted to drink, and sleep, and let Yennefer sink her fingernails deeper into his back and use him for the same reason that he was using her.

She was the only one who understood.

He didn’t have to explain himself to her, or pretend it was all okay. He just had to fuck her, and make it good, and make them both feel better than the mess Geralt had left them in.

And he loved her for it.

He would never have imagined the ironic way that it had all turned out. It was poetic justice in action – and once upon a time, he might have even written a song about it.

Once. But not anymore.

“Stop brooding, Jas. You’ve got a face on you like _you-know-who.”_

Yennefer dropped another pint of ale down beside him and took a deep swig of her own. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“The barman recommended we try this ale – he said it’s the best beer in Blaviken. So drink up! It’ll make you feel better. They call it... _Butcher’s Blood_.”

Jaskier stared at the frothy red ale, his thirst dying on his lips.

Yennefer shook her head at him and laughed. She took a long sip of her beer – as if daring him to match up to her.

“Oh come on, Jas. Lighten up. You’re not the only one that’s been fucked over by Geralt of Rivia. The whole town here hates him too.”

He watched without a word as the red liquid settled in his glass. He didn’t want to discuss their former friend out loud, in this place. Why was Yenn bringing him up like this? They’d not spoken about the witcher in days – and tonight she couldn’t seem to shut up about him.

“I mean, can you imagine if he were to come back here? What that would mean? He’d have to have such a good reason to travel to these parts, Jas. Don’t you think?”

He shrugged without comment, and let his eyes slide to the sand dunes that guarded the beach from the town. There was no witcher forthcoming tonight – and nor would there ever be.

But there was a solitary man standing motionless over there, watching the sea from the dunes. Waiting for something, in the still and heavy evening air. Dressed in long black leathers, despite the heat.

And after a silent pause, Yenn took up her beer again and smiled. She pointed at the setting sun.

“It’s a beautiful sunset, Jas. You should come and sit next to me, keep me warm.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she winked.

“It’s got to be the hottest night of the year, Yenn. You should take that dress off to cool down.”

She smiled at him, and the orange light of the sky glinted bright in her purple eyes. She took another gulp of her beer, and nodded.

“Would you like that, bard? Would you like me to do it here – or we could go down to the dunes before the sea is in, and you could take my dress off yourself?”

His eyes slid back to the dunes – glowing scarlet now in the sunset – tempted by her suggestive offer...

But his eyes widened at what he saw there. The man in black still stood watching the sea in silence – but now he had company.

A whole troop of soldiers was waiting in the dunes, dressed in some armoured uniform – with feathered hats and swords and everything. All waiting by the entrance to the beach, barring any exit back into the town.

He frowned.

Where had they all appeared from? And what were they waiting for, out by a deserted beach on a hot summer’s night? There was twenty of them, easily.

He’d heard talk of pirates around this stretch of coast. Was that it? Were they a coastguard?

They were all looking back at him in stony silence.

It was unnerving.

“Uh... Yenn?”

She smiled at him with lazy eyes.

“What is it, my little sparrow?”

He stared at her in surprise, and she started laughing.

And laughing.

Was she drunk already? They were only on their second round.

“What’s so funny, Yenn? I don’t get it?”

But she was putting her head in her hands, and stilling herself now.

“I’m too tired, Jas. You’ll have to take my clothes off all by yourself.”

“Yenn, are you alright?”

But the woman made no response. 

She’d fallen right asleep, with her head on the table – still clutched in her hands. Beside her half drunk pint of _Butcher’s Blood._

As gentle as he could, he stroked his fingers through her hair. The men by the dunes were still watching them, and he felt a sudden urge to take Yennefer’s hand and run from here.

“Yenn, wake up. We need to go.”

But his friend didn’t move.

He tried shaking her shoulders, harder and harder. With his voice quiet and low.

“Yenn? Yenn, we need to go – wake up!”

The men were coming this way now.

Shit, what the fuck did they want?

It was probably something innocent. They probably had some very good reason for lingering around the only escape route that the two of them had from the empty beach back into town. They probably were coming over to help with Yennefer, to see if she was okay.

So why was he suddenly so afraid?

“Yenn, please...”

He got up and sat beside her, lifting her head and shoulders and taking her limp form in his arms. He somehow needed to put himself in between her and these approaching men. He didn’t want them coming close to her. He didn’t want them close to either of them.

But they were here now, and they circled the table.

Jaskier glanced at their shadowy faces in the approaching dark, and kept his tone neutral.

“Good evening, gentlemen. How can I help you?”

Not one of them answered him.

He took a deep breath, and squeezed Yenn’s hand. Maybe with her magical powers she’d be able to feel that he needed her now. He needed her magic.

With her unconscious, they were both defenceless.

And these men seemed to know it.

“My wife is very tired. I think we’ll be leaving soon to – ”

“You’re not going anywhere. Get up now, on your feet. And leave Yennefer of Vengerberg to us.”

Jaskier blinked.

_“What_ did you say?”

A different man spoke, from the other side of the circle.

“You heard us, Lord Lettenhove. On your feet now, or we’ll do this the hard way.”

“The _harder_ way.”

There was laughter all around him.

Jaskier felt his veins prick with sudden ice.

How the fuck did these people know their names – their real names? Who had told them?

What did they want?

“Uh... I don’t think _threats_ are really the way to – ”

He saw the fist coming his way, but the impact was still somehow shocking. Somehow still a complete and utter surprise. And he had little sensation of anything after the stupefying numbness sank in.

He felt himself falling backwards, onto the red sand.

He saw glimpses of the men lifting Yennefer – and he tried to reach out, to hold onto her – to stop them from taking her away –

Someone kicked him in the ribs, and he closed his eyes – he reached his hands to hide his eyes, trying to shield his face.

And as the blows rained down, he found he had no strength left to open them again...


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I hope you’re all safe and well! This is a bit of a longer chapter this time again – I was considering splitting it into two (or tacking the first part onto Ch13), but I kinda wanted to get it out the way in one go, as it’s a bit on the dark side. 
> 
> The chapter starts off with the evil henchmen who’ve been messing with Yenn and Jaskier, and then has Jaskier waking up to discover that things are actually really not looking good at all. 
> 
> There’s no violence or anything though – and despite some of the threats made here there won’t be any later on either (apart from some witcher-style fury aimed at people who deserve it), so don’t worry about our boy!! He just has to be brave and strong right now.

The man in black leathers wiped the blood from his fists. The skin of his knuckles had torn and drizzled garish trails of red down his fat fleshy fingers, dripping into the sand where he stood.

Or maybe he’d got it wrong. Maybe the blood belonged to the other man.

He studied his handiwork in silence.

Everything had gone exactly as he’d planned – exactly as his lord most desired – and soon he would be rewarded fittingly. He knew the drill.

He’d been promised gold for his troubles – and his men a share of silver – but the sense of professional pride came in many ways as its own reward. There was nothing more wholesome than a job well done after all. And nothing more exhilarating than giving lawbreakers and deviants the kind of justice that they deserved.

He surveyed his catch, as his troops bound their hands and feet with steel shackles and chains.

Neither of them would be waking anytime soon, but necessity had demanded that precautions be taken just to be sure. The woman was an agent of chaos – and was capable of gross acts of deception and terrible violence. She’d already caused malicious strife in other towns with her illusions and trickery, and his lordship was quite within his rights to arrest her at once as an enemy of the peace – and find other, more pleasing uses for such a wayward and troublesome woman.

She was worth her weight in gold to the right buyer – and his lordship knew many buyers from foreign shores who would be interested in such a rare and precious merchandise.

He stared at the woman’s sleeping face.

She looked peaceful. Relaxed even. Sleeping deeply – with no bad dreams.

And long may it stay that way. The herbs that had been stirred into her ale should last twelve hours or more. That’s what he’d been told, and his lordship’s contacts knew all about mixing potions.

He watched with a feeling of wistfulness as one of the younger, clumsier henchmen carried the woman’s listless body towards the carriage.

Such beauty. He had enjoyed watching her these last few days. Most of his assignments were not so easy on the eye – but Yennefer of Vengerberg had been as lovely as her legend foretold.

“Put her in the back – on the seat, and don’t let any harm come to her.”

The man nodded at his command, and shielded the sorceress’ head with a free hand while their cargo was loaded into the horse-drawn carriage.

That was better. No harm should come to her – it could lessen her market price, and then his lordship would be disappointed.

And when he was disappointed, he could become angry. And when he was angry...

He cast his gaze down to Yennefer’s companion.

The viscount was curled up on the sand in a ball where he’d fallen – his hands now bound at his back. They could stick this one on the floor in the carriage – it hardly mattered now whether his face was knocked around.

This one would be winning no awards for beauty – not after the beating he’d had. If he’d drunk the ale like he was supposed to then it would all have been so much easier, but sometimes bringing the wrongdoers to face his lordship’s justice required him to get his hands dirty like this.

Or bloody, as his torn knuckles proved.

The fallen man had a burst nose and lip, and at least one black eye in the post for later. But it was nothing serious – he’d called his men off as soon as the miscreant had passed out. Despite his noble status by birth, there was no hard currency attached to this man’s life – but his lordship surely had other designs on its use.

Not that he would be informed of such details. And when he had delivered these two he would try not to think on it.

Because although a part of him was rather curious about how his lordship disposed of the ranks of criminal men and women who were brought every month to the dungeon cellars – he knew better than to ask. Because the larger part of him wanted never to find out.

He’d heard rumours about what happened to those people. Horrible rumours. And sometimes, with these matters – it was better not to know.

After all, there were things that went on in the dark hidden places of the world that frightened even a man such as he.

And then there were other things. Things that went on under a full moon’s light but yet were not remotely natural or holy. Things that he had no business in ever asking about or thinking about.

And as long as he delivered this pair to his lordship as he’d been commanded, and as long as he did his lord’s work without question – then he himself would never, ever have to find out...

*** *** *** *** ***

He didn’t understand – where was he? Why was it so dark? He couldn’t move and he couldn’t see, but yet his eyes were open. The air was damp and dirty. It smelled of mould – of dank and wet and rotten things.

Was he in some hellish pit?

What had they done to Yenn?

What was going to happen to them now?

Wherever he was – he was trapped. His hands were tied high above his head – the position was uncomfortable in the extreme, and he had no idea how long he’d been left like this – strung up with no way to see. There was pain in his face where they’d punched him, and it hurt to breathe through his ribs.

Those men – they’d beaten him. They’d taken Yenn.

Why had they done that? Where was she?

He tried to kick his feet – but his ankles were bound fast to something.

Maybe he should just try to save his strength? Maybe he should just try and stay calm, and think things through? There must be a way out of this for him and Yenn. He just needed to get a hold of himself and _think._

He couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t even protect himself.

He couldn’t escape. Not from here.

Not without help.

Fuck, where was Yenn? Where was Geralt, even?

Would the witcher come for them? How would he even know where they were?

Fuck!

Wait, what was that? Was that a sound? Or was his imagination only tricking him?

He listened, but he’d been right the first time.

Somewhere out in the blackness – something was scraping like metal on metal. Footsteps were approaching. Coming closer. Echoing on a stone floor and getting louder and louder...

Shit, who was this now that was coming? Was it a friend – or someone who would hurt him again?

Clothing rustled, along with the dry wheeze of ancient breath.

“Hello? Is someone there? Where am I? What’s going on?”

Whoever was out there only cackled, and the leering tone told Jaskier all he needed to know about his prospects of help.

“You are in my home, my Lord de Lettenhove. In the dungeons – where criminals like you belong.”

The voice was dry and dusty, but the words hit Jaskier like a slap – and then he remembered.

These people – whoever they were – they had known their names. His and Yennefer’s. They knew who they were...

And gods only knew what that meant.

“Uh...you’ve got this wrong. This is some kind of mistake. I’m no criminal! I’m just a bard.”

The man was moving about – he could hear the wrinkling of fabric and a shuffling tread. The stranger was coming closer to him.

A scent – as of dead and decayed things – enveloped him.

“You’re a thief and a deviant, and you help yourself to other men’s property – with neither self-control nor morality. You are a criminal, Julian Pankrantz.”

The hissing words were spoken with something close to mockery. And Jaskier was perplexed.

“Don’t speak in riddles, please. What are you accusing me of?”

The shuffling came closer, and even through the blindfold – for that must be what it was over his eyes – Jaskier could feel the man’s scrutinising gaze. He could feel a gimlet stare watching him for any sign of weakness. For any sign of fear.

He tried to still his heart. He tried to keep from shaking. Something instinctive screamed at him in warning.

“Tell me then, _bard._ Do you remember the debutante ball for the lady Lilja d’Arcsea? I imagine a man like you forgets such things after fifteen years have passed.”

Jaskier racked his memory.

The name of the lady rang a bell – she was the daughter of a local margrave. And he’d probably been at the party. But there were so many parties through the years he’d been to, how was he ever supposed to remember –

“You were there with your fiddle, Julian. And your pretty poems. Do you remember the girl you stole away to the ale cellar?”

A woman’s face swam into view. Dark hair, brown eyes, freckles. He remembered the party now.

The woman had been bored, and rather melancholy. Her grandfather had been nagging her all night over dinner, but when she’d listened to his songs she’d smiled and her face had lit up. And he had soon cheered her up properly after the dancing, in that ale cellar. They had spent a good hour together down there – mainly just talking. And she’d even begged him to run away with her afterwards – after all the ale they’d drunk.

“Rosa d’Arcsea? Of course I remember her. It was her father throwing the party – it was her house. Her ale cellar.”

The footsteps pacing in front of him stopped abruptly.

“Wrong, Julian. It was _my_ ale cellar. For I was her husband. My wife. My party. My property.”

Shit. Was this true? He could barely remember as it was. The old guy with Rosa had been _ancient._ Surely he’d be dead fifteen years on?

“Right, well... I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for fucking your wife. But it was an accident! I thought she was your grand-daughter! She told me – “

The man stalked closer to him now – so close that Jaskier could feel the hiss of foul breath on his neck, and feel the tingle of impending contact – as if a hand had been raised to strike him in the invisible air.

Was the man going to punch him where he stood, helpless to fight back?

“Are you mocking me _?_ Is that what you’re doing? Mock me again and I’ll have your tongue right out – to give the world some peace from your witless jabbering.”

The man didn’t sound like he was joking here.

Shit. This guy was nuts, officially nuts.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Praying this crazy old man would listen to reason.

“I’m sorry. Again. For... you know. But I... don’t know what else you want me to say? It was fifteen years ago. Surely you and your wife have made peace by now?”

The man chuckled. A low, unpleasant sound that made Jaskier’s skin crawl.

“My wife is _dead,_ Julian. After you ruined her, she had a rather nasty accident. She drowned in the ale cellar. And of course, I inherited all her estate. This estate, as a matter of fact. For I am the lord margrave d’Arcsea, and these marchlands all belong to me. How ironic it is that you should be here in this _special place_ after all these years. It used to be the old ale cellar, before I made certain... _modifications.”_

Jaskier’s breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t breathe – the pressure was suddenly too much.

This man – was he saying that he’d... that he’d...

No.

Oh no, no, no!

_“You killed her.”_

He barely recognised his own voice. Somehow, in the space of ten seconds, it had grown haggard and hoarse.

The old man laughed in derision.

“And what if I did? Women are more trouble than they’re worth. You have the right approach to them, Julian. But if you touch another man’s property – then you cross a line. You made me a laughing stock amongst my kinsmen here. Amongst other nobles. How can they respect me or obey me when I can’t even control my own woman? So it must be punished, Julian. _You_ must be punished.”

But Jaskier wasn’t listening any more – he couldn’t listen to any more of this. It was all too much.

What had happened to that poor woman – was it all his fault?

Was _this_ his fault now?

The thought was unbearable. As was the thought of what might yet befall.

“Where is my friend? Where is Yennefer? Is she safe?”

The man stopped, seemingly surprised by his outburst.

“See for yourself, _my lord.”_

In an instant, the blindfold was snatched from his head – and the room seemed unnaturally bright, for a second – until his eyes adjusted to the glare of the dim candlelight.

And where he was didn’t look much like an ale cellar anymore. Certainly not the ones he’d been known to frequent.

He could have been in the deepest pit of hell in here – it was unmistakeably a dungeon – or something even worse.

The finely dressed old man standing before him was still ancient – sunken and dry, with deep grey eyes lit up with malevolent intelligence in the candlelight. The hungry expression in the man’s withered face made Jaskier’s stomach flip in dreadful foreboding.

Because there were _things_ all around him – terrifying metal things that Jaskier really didn’t want to look at – all hanging from the walls. Horrible hooked and pointed things. Evil devices used to inflict cruelty and pain on people. It was every nightmarish vision of horror from every awful fairytale, come true right in front of him.

He didn’t want to look at those things. He didn’t want to think about what they did – what they might _do._

His eyes slid to the floor.

And then he saw her – there in front of him – wrapped in chains and tied to a post.

“Oh, _Yenn...”_

She was still asleep – her breathing was regular and calm, and her face was empty of pain.

She was unhurt.

She was okay.

He hadn’t realised how long he’d been holding his breath in, and now he could breathe again. Thanks the gods she was alright, that she was still here with him...

But she shouldn’t be here at all.

He shook his head.

“Please – let her go. She’s not to blame for anything... not anything that _I’ve_ done. You can let her go.”

The man looked at the woman and laughed.

“Let her go? – so she can rescue you with her sorcery? You must think me a fool, Julian. I know well what Yennefer of Vengerberg is capable of. My cousin is the lord mayor of Rinde. Her little stunt there cost me deep in the purse. The woman is dangerous, and must be dealt with.”

Jaskier stared at his friend, trying to think.

“If you’re worried that she’ll rescue me, then just kill me now, and be done with it. Tell the witcher – tell Geralt of Rivia that you have her. He will pay for her safe delivery. He will give you anything you want to get her back. He’ll come here and take her away. Please. You don’t have to hurt her.”

The man smiled nastily.

“Ah, Geralt of Rivia, you say. Your infamous witcher friend. Yes, I’ve heard all about him. And his legendary _unnatural_ relationship with you. Just one of your many perversions, isn’t it, Julian?”

Jaskier felt his cheeks flush – in anger this time.

“Geralt of Rivia is not and never has been my friend. But he does love Yennefer of Vengerberg very much. He will do whatever you say, and pay you whatever you want for her. I promise you this.”

“And why would I trust the word of a filthy whore like you? You are a liar, a thief and a pervert. And I will see to it that you get what you deserve. And your sorceress friend here – drugged and helpless – she will watch as you get it. And when she’s watched you die in pieces – I’ll put her on a slave ship, bound for Nilfgaard, and sell her and her powers to the highest bidder among those mages that I know down there. A good many of them would be interested in her powers, and I owe them _certain favours_. They’d have all sorts of uses for a rogue source like her – dead or alive.”

Jaskier’s eyes were on Yennefer, watching the slow breathing of her chest – attuned perfectly to the graceful, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

What the man was saying was insane. How could anyone ever want to pay money to damage her in any way?

“You don’t have to do this. Please! I did you wrong. I did your wife wrong. I’ll admit it. I’ll say and do whatever you want me to. But don’t hurt Yenn – ”

“You’ll say and do whatever I want you to do anyway, Julian. It won’t take me long. I have lots of experience down here of persuading better people than you are to obey me. Look at what you’re hanging on, for instance.”

Jaskier froze. In all this time, he’d never even thought to look up – to see what he was attached to. What he was tied to.

He met the man’s laughing grey eyes, and saw all his hopes sink without trace. There was cruelty in this man’s soul. He wanted to hurt them – both of them.

He was enjoying himself.

Jaskier swallowed, and took a look above his head. And instantly, he wished he hadn’t. He felt his guts churn, in nausea – and closed his eyes at the sudden urge to vomit.

_Fuck._

“That’s right, Julian. It’s an unusual design for a rack – one of my own, but it’s very efficient. It keeps a good hold of criminals like you while I apply certain _other_ treatments to them. As you shall find out for yourself tomorrow. Your friend can watch you bleed. The drugs I gave her come from Nilfgaard. She won’t be able to use her powers to save you, but she will get to witness your demise. All of it. For your death will not be quick nor merciful, Julian. In fact, it will take all afternoon – until the full moon rises.”

Jaskier’s ears were ringing, but it didn’t drown out those evil words.

He wished he couldn’t hear this – he didn’t want to know – or think at all about this detestable wickedness. It would drive him mad to even think about it. He would die of fright if he even though of it for a moment.

It made him cringe to open his eyes.

This couldn’t be happening.

It was all wrong.

Whatever the man was saying, the crazy old bastard didn’t know Yenn. She was stronger than they all thought – she would never let this happen to him. Together they would escape from here...

He shook his head, glaring at the man with sudden venom.

“You can’t do this to us. You won’t get away with it.”

But the man just shrugged, and smiled.

Those grey eyes studied his own for a moment, as if assessing what kind of fight he had left in him. What kind of conviction he had. How easily he would break, on that rack, in a few hours’ time.

It made Jaskier nauseous all over again.

“Julian, I’ve gotten away with it for years. Nobody has ever stopped me. You and your chained sorceress certainly won’t. Nobody else will try. And so all you have to look forward to is your death. It won’t be quick and it won’t be painless, but it will be very permanent, so that’s one thing at least.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, worried suddenly that he might cry. He didn’t want to give this monster the pleasure – not before tomorrow. And the old man was leaving now – scuttling across the stone floor and locking the door behind him.

He could hold it in for a moment. That was all he could do.

And he could try and wake Yennefer.

But despite however much he called to her and willed her to wake up – to hear him – to come to her senses and save them both before it was too late – his only friend slept on in her drugged stupor, and Jaskier lost all track of time as the uncountable minutes slid into hours, and all the terror and loneliness squeezed his thoughts into a single pointed cry of despair...

Which he no longer believed anyone would ever hear or rescue him from.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, it’s been a bit longer than I intended to finish off this chapter, so I’m sorry for the delay! The next few chapters are a bit of a bundle, so I didn’t want to post anything up before I’d made a bit more headway into the next few scenes. This one is also a bit longer than others too (like 4000 words – so you might need to double up on snacks before you begin), so there’s been more to edit. But I think it makes sense to keep it all together, as it begins and ends with our main man!
> 
> After his long journey down from the mountains, Geralt is finally arriving into the fateful streets of Blaviken, where the living residents are very eager to practise their social distancing skills on him and leave him well alone. That obviously doesn’t apply to Renfri though, who shows up in ghostly form (or is she just the voice of Geralt’s own paranoia??) to offer up more dark prophecies to freak him out. Then Yenn wakes up in a groggy, druggy state – in the horrible cell next to Jaskier who is not happy at all – and she freaks out a bit too. And then Geralt puts 2+2 together and realises that their longed-for beachside rendez-vous isn’t working out as planned, so he looks for some answers in the local bar (as you do)...

The sun was behind him as he rode through the town.

The long shadows of the early morning stretched out ahead, pointing his way through cobbled streets where stalls were already being loaded for the daily markets.

Suspicious glances were thrown in his direction. He saw startled questions in people’s eyes, heard conversations rapidly hushed, and one or two merchants crossed to the other side of the street to avoid him.

But Yenn was right.

No one stopped him.

It appeared no one wanted to even look at him – his white hair and witcher’s armour marked him out as the monster of their town’s own legend, and the good people of Blaviken were unsure how to respond to his ghastly appearance in the bright light of a summer morning.

And passing through the market square – the same square where all those years ago he’d spent his final moments with the woman that he should have helped rather than killed – a passing shadow made him turn back to look at the guildhall clock tower.

A quarter to seven. Still early. Still plenty of time to find his friends on the coast.

He frowned.

Something made him think at once of the linseed oil that Jaskier used to protect his lute – the same lute that lay in the bottom of Geralt’s bag as an offering, in the hope that the musician would choose to accept his apologies and return to his life.

Or was it more the heady scent of lilac and gooseberries? – fresh and fragrant and as intoxicating as Yennefer herself when she relaxed her guard and allowed herself to be loved.

But these memories brought him no comfort – not here in this place. He did not wish to consider either Yennefer or Jaskier so viscerally right now, for fear that the town would see his love and punish him – that the hands of that looming clock would reach out for his friends, and drag them into another waiting hole in the ground before he could save them.

But why should he ever think of them here at all?

He turned around, suddenly hopeful that his friends were close by – that by some act of providence he might happen upon them sooner than anticipated – and see them hand in hand and watching him from the shadows of the guildhall gates.

But when he did look back he only saw the awful courtyard where he’d slashed his sword through Renfri’s throat.

Cold shock tightened at his neck.

And in his mind, he heard her soft laughter.

_You’re with me always, Geralt. Wherever you travel. You cannot escape destiny._

He could almost see her dark eyes watching him from the cracks in the pavement, where her blood had trickled down and pooled at his feet, all those many moons ago.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. 

_But I know why you’ve come here. I know the two you seek. Your special Yenn. Your sweet Jaskier. You think you can save them with your love..._

She always knew his heart. All of his secrets, all of his fears – they were transparent to her black-sunlit stare.

It was a sacrilege for her to speak their names here.

He tore his eyes away from the deathly square, and urged Roach on faster through the streets. Away from Renfri’s sad-voiced mocking, and her bitter prophecies.

Until her laughter died away in the morning shadows.

_But the only destiny you have is me, witcher. What was my destiny will be theirs. For you are the death of everyone that you love, and if you couldn’t save me then how will you save them?_

A cloud moved past the sun and stole the warmth from his heart.

And at a loss, he ruffled his hands through his horse’s shiny mane and spoke to her under his breath, hoping the sound of his own voice would break the spell of those cursed words he’d heard echoing through his mind.

“Come on Roach, faster now.”

For the dead could not speak. They didn’t make prophecies. And they didn’t cast spells on the lives of the living.

Renfri did not know Yennefer. She didn’t know Jaskier. And she never would – because they were very much alive and she was very definitely dead.

He knew it all very well – he’d been the one who’d pushed his blade through her throat and sent her to that sunless world from where she could not harm the innocent.

And if she forced him to choose like she had done before, then he would kill her again – just like he would kill anyone who intended harm on those whom he loved. Destiny be damned.

Destiny could keep its grasping hands away from Yenn and Jaskier – or he would cut them clean off with his silver sword.

Destiny could go fuck itself.

And with his eyes blazing straight into the shadows ahead, the road led the witcher out of town, heading for the coast, and taking him to where he’d arranged to find his dearly beloved friends by the beachside coach house...

*** *** *** *** ***

Something was wrong. The world felt different, strange somehow.

Something was missing.

She knew before she even heard the sound... the heartrending sound of someone’s hopes torn apart.

Someone was sobbing – crying. Someone she loved.

_Jaskier?_

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw him. Bruised and bound in the grimy cell before her.

She saw what they’d done to him.

_Jas!_

But no sound came from her lips.

She was calling out to him – to speak to him, to console him – to tell him it would all be okay because she was here now and she would protect him. But she couldn’t speak at all, and he couldn’t hear her.

Whatever was going on?

She couldn’t find her chaos inside. Its pathways were closed to her. She could see the connections – feel them – but she couldn’t move through them. She couldn’t summon her powers.

She couldn’t do anything to help him.

She tried reaching out to him with her mind, but she could no longer read his thoughts. He was sunk in a black despair, cloaked in a veil of darkness that she could not see through.

But her lover’s broken sobs spoke of his fears – she could still hear with her ears all his hurt and anguish. She longed to hold him close right now, and take those awful sounds from him. But she was powerless to reach him, both physically and through chaos.

But could she reach someone else? Someone less steeped in misery?

Could she reach Geralt?

He was on his way to find them, wasn’t he? He would find them. She had no doubt about that.

But would he find them in time?

These people – they’d already hurt Jaskier once. They were capable of anything, anytime.

They were dangerous.

_Geralt! Geralt, can you hear me?_

But she couldn’t sense her witcher’s mind either. She caught a glimpse of him, pointing a sword at a brown haired woman in a market place – but who could say from where or when the image came? It could have been a hundred years ago for all she knew. She couldn’t connect with him.

She couldn’t warn him to hurry. She couldn’t tell him what she remembered – of the strange feeling that had come over her at sundown and the blurred sensation of falling. The voices of the men who’d been there, suddenly – taking them both away in a horse drawn carriage to this awful cell.

The conversation that she’d heard in pieces between Jaskier and the aged man.

The threats he’d made. Horrible, evil threats.

They were both in real danger here. And she needed him to know.

They needed help.

But now, she couldn’t tell Geralt how much she really needed him. How much Jaskier needed him.

That they didn’t have much time.

That she had no power – for these wicked people had taken it all away.

How dare they do this?

A feeling of helpless rage surged through her, electric and unbounded by gravity.

And in that rage she found her chaos. She couldn’t focus on it, she couldn’t see it all, but she could sense it pulsing through her, behind whatever drug they’d used to blunt her mind...

She took her power back for herself, and broke through those shallow confines.

She was finally free.

And just for a second, she connected with something outside of the sun and stars. Something that flowed beyond their vast currents of power – and the violence and ferocity that blazed white hot within her message to the two men she loved scorched her mind back into darkness.

_Geralt, come and help us!_

*** *** *** *** ***

He was nearing the old coach house when it hit him. The shocking force of the wall of emotion that knocked into his heart and sent his hands clutching at his face.

_Yenn?_

He pulled Roach to a halt, and closed his eyes.

The village streets here were deserted now the heat was rising, but he wanted silence. He needed to focus on what he’d just heard. What he’d just felt. It still rang through him – making the hairs on his skin stand up in fright.

Yenn had called out to him, he was sure of it. But all he’d caught of it was swirling anger and a terrible fear – a sense of being trapped and isolated. A feeling of need – for him. For him to assist. At once.

Wherever she was, she was scared and she needed his help.

It was a troubling thought in itself – but what was he to do?

Was she at the coach house, waiting for him with Jaskier?

Where were his friends?

He squinted at the white building up ahead, seeing it stand out stark and pale against the blue sky and deep azure waves of the shimmering ocean.

It all looked so calm and peaceful here. Not at all like that message. It didn’t look right.

And as the waves broke on the lonely sandbars, he understood that his friends were not here to be found.

The sea and white sands were devoid of all life. The few tables and chairs on the beach were empty. He would have known if Yenn or Jaskier were somewhere nearby – he would have felt their vital sparks shining as warm as the heat of the sun.

And looking at that shore, where the huge blue waves rolled in without shape or time, he did not feel their presence. There was no love there. Only empty currents running adrift on the swirling sands, as they did for eternity.

But he sensed something else – at the edge of his mind.

There was a scent on the wind.

A scent that was most familiar to him in his line of work, but one that he recognised more intimately still – and that terrible association right here and now was enough to send him galloping forward on Roach – urging her on to the beach as fast as she could go.

And there, on the dry white sand, he saw it.

The small spatterings of blood.

Of Jaskier’s blood.

He stared down transfixed, paralysed with dread at the thought of what had befallen his friends here.

Had Renfri cursed him, as she died – so that everyone he ever loved would come to violent ends like she had?

Was he responsible for this, after driving them here – to this terrible, dangerous place?

He stared into the bleak blue waves, hammering mindlessly at the shoreline in the rising heat.

He only knew that Yenn was alive – and in trouble. He only knew Jaskier had been hurt here. He needed to know where they were now, where he could find them.

Because he would find them.

“Whatever you say Renfri, I won’t let you take them. Their destiny is with me – not with you.”

He jumped down from Roach, and assessed the spatterings. Trying to form a picture of what had happened to his friends at their table. Trying to think without this surging sense of fear that threatened to overcome all logic and reason...

There was not much blood, not really. Jaskier was probably still alive, just hurt somewhere...

He closed his eyes.

She’d said they sat out here in the evenings. Last night, at sunset – they would have been here.

At the coach house.

He turned and stared at the building. The sun was climbing higher now – bright enough to pain his eyes as he stared at the gleaming walls.

Perhaps he would find an answer in there. Someone might know something – and might tell him where they were.

He narrowed his eyes and led Roach towards the white walls – and stopped.

He didn’t want to tether her out here.

She might need to escape herself.

“Stay here. Let me know if anyone comes.”

His horse lifted her head and snorted, and with heart beating hard, he touched her silver reins for good luck.

He pushed open the wooden door, and stared into the muggy darkness.

The bar room was sparsely furnished, and fully deserted – save for one man, thin and old, with a bushy grey beard and narrow eyes.

The witcher strutted across the bar, eyes fixed forward – taking in every detail in an instant. He could smell his friends had been in here. They’d been in here recently.

But they were not here now.

The barman frowned at him.

“You look like someone who shouldn’t be here, witcher. Are you lost? Need me to point you the way out of town?”

There was coldness in the man’s voice – and something else there. A stiffness around his mouth. Worry lines in the corners of his eyes.

This man knew something. And Geralt needed to know what that something was.

He took a seat at the bar, and locked eyes with the man. The man dropped his gaze.

Did he have a guilty conscience, or was he just afraid?

“I don’t intend on staying long. I’m looking for some friends of mine. I think you know them – they’ve been coming here, these last few nights.”

The man sniffed, and turned to wipe down some shelves stacked with tall green bottles.

“Friends, you say? I didn’t think your type had friends.”

Ignoring the insult, he shook his head.

“Well, see – that’s just the problem. Right now, I don’t. Because I can’t find them. But they were in here last night. They might have ran into trouble, so perhaps you could tell me all you know about what might have happened to them.”

The barman took up one of the green bottles and polished it – rubbing a damp cloth all over the paper label and blurring the inky name written across.

“There was no trouble here, not that I saw.”

The man still wouldn’t look at him. He was afraid.

But not of witchers, evidently.

“Shall I describe my friends to you?”

The man looked up and met his gaze. He seemed happy enough now to be offered a question that he didn’t have to lie to answer.

“Go on then – tell me what kind of company a witcher keeps.”

Geralt took a deep breath.

“There are two of them. A man and a woman. The man is a musician – a bard. He’s youthful to look at – brown hair, blue eyes. You would remember him if you met him. He talks a lot. He would have talked to you, and you would probably think him a fool. But he isn’t. He’s gentle, and honest, and trusting, and – ”

He broke off, afraid to admit too much.

“And my other friend is very beautiful. You would remember her too. Dark hair, violet eyes. She’s fiery, and clever, and brave. She’s also a trained mage of Aretuza, and so she has certain... _powers._ And so I know that she was here last night. I know that they were _both_ here last night.”

The man was staring down at the green bottle in his hands, unsure what to do with it. Those hands shook for a second, and he almost dropped the bottle on the floor.

“Never seen them. Sorry.”

Geralt stared at the man in silence, letting the pressure of his yellow mutant eyes unsettle his opponent some more.

The barman was lying. It was obvious to him – and unsurprising. He hadn’t expected to be greeted with the honest truth as an unwelcome stranger in this town. He didn’t expect its residents to trust him with their favours – favours that could land them in trouble in ways he didn’t understand. And to some extent, he didn’t mind.

This man could waste as much of his own time here as he liked, and Geralt would still be patient.

But it was not his time being wasted here. It was Yennefer and Jaskier’s time. And that time was precious to him above all else. It was critical that it was not wasted.

It would not do.

“I know you’re lying to me.”

The man looked up sharply, surprised by the neutral tone in the witcher’s words.

“I’m not, I told you – ”

“Listen, I don’t have time for more of your lies. My friends don’t have time for your lies. I’m very worried about them. They mean everything to me, and if anything were to happen to either of them, I swear to you...”

There were a number of threats he could make here. Any number of violent utterances to fit in with his local legend as the harbinger of death and destruction. But would threats work? Would they frighten the man enough to release him from the grip of whatever else he might fear?

Was that really the best way to gain this information?

The man was staring at the floor, his lips pursed and sealed. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow.

It might work. By making idle threats that he would never carry out he might well terrorise the man into submission. But would the man then tell him everything – or just enough to make him go away? He needed this man’s help. His real help. Yennefer and Jaskier needed it.

The witcher sighed.

He’d come here to be honest with them, to tell them the truth about how he felt. But maybe they weren’t the only audience that he needed to convince.

He addressed the barman.

“Tell me, what’s your name?”

The man scowled back.

“Archer.”

“Alright then, Archer – have you ever been in love?”

The man stared back at him in shock.

“What?”

The witcher shook his head.

“Of course you have. Everyone has. Everyone knows what it’s like. Even a monster like me – I can still feel love. Does that surprise you?”

The man was staring at him aghast. The idea of a witcher in love was seemingly more terrifying than anything else he could contemplate.

Good.

“Well, Archer – I love my friends. Yennefer and Jaskier. That’s their names. You might understand, because you’ve met them too – but they’re very special people. I don’t deserve either of them in my life, and I don’t know how I could exist without them. You see, they’re more than just my friends – they’re my joy, my sanity, and my whole reason to believe that the world is worth protecting. Do you understand that? Can you understand how it would feel to worry about someone you love like that being hurt and you couldn’t protect them...?”

The old man looked like he was about to cry.

Maybe it was working.

“I know they’ve been hurt here. I found blood – Jaskier’s blood – spilled on the beach. He writes poems, and plays music, and I love him. And someone has hurt him. Why? What’s happened to him? Where is he now? Where’s Yenn? Please, tell me for their sakes – I’m not asking you for mine. They’re good people, innocent people. I don’t want any trouble. I just want them back.”

The man shook his head.

“It’s too late now, they’ve been taken to _him.”_

The man’s voice was full of despair. It stilled his very breath to hear it.

He steeled himself for the question he almost didn’t want answered.

“Are they dead already?”

The man only shrugged.

“Yes, no, maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know how long he keeps them alive for. They say it takes him some time to... before they’re dead.”

Enough of this – where the fuck were his friends, and what the fuck was going on?

He put his hands on the bar.

“Please. Tell me everything. As quickly as you can.”

The man opened the green bottle, and poured himself a shot of its harsh-smelling contents.

He offered the rest towards Geralt, who refused with a wave of his hand.

“It used to be nice around here, witcher. When I was young. This was a nice town, a rich town. We were happy here – my wife and I. We opened up this place, our daughter was born...”

The man broke off, taking another sip of whisky to hide a choked sob.

“But then the new margrave arrived, and it all changed. Everything went bad. Everything turned sour. But nobody could do anything against him – he was always fond of violence. Always liked to hurt people – especially the ones he decided were trouble...”

The man’s eyes had turned misty now, and his voice had slowed.

“And where is this margrave? Where can I find him?”

The man didn’t seem to hear his question.

“But soon, he said everyone was trouble. And then people started to disappear. His men would take them from the streets, and we’d never see them again. My wife...”

The witcher stared back at the man.

He needed to keep his patience here. He nearly knew enough. He would leave soon, on Roach, and find his friends...

“What happened to your wife?”

But the man only gulped at his whisky.

“We waited for him to die, but he never did. He’s never aged a day, the whole time he’s been here. They say he uses devilry at night. Moonlit sacrifices, and secret spells. Black magic, and blood, and pain...”

The witcher clenched his fists.

“Where can I find this man?”

The barman stared back in pity.

“In the Blaviken guildhall, of course. That’s where the Arcsea margrave resides now. It used to be used by our merchant lords, but he turned it into a place of evil. He has soldiers guarding it night and day now. You’ll never get them out alive.”

The witcher glared back.

“Then why don’t you help me? You and the rest of the town here. Why don’t you get together, and defend yourselves?”

The old barman smiled sadly.

“Because of fear, witcher. We know what he’ll do to our families. I don’t have a wife anymore, but I have a daughter. She’s all that’s left.”

The witcher sighed.

“The best way to protect her is to kill him.”

The barman shook his head.

“No. The best way to protect her is to _obey_ him. I’m sorry for your friends. Truly, I am. I didn’t want any part in it – but I had no choice. I will not sacrifice my daughter for your friends. I hope you can understand why that is.”

“Tell me what happened to them.”

The barman drained the last of his drink.

“His men came here, last night. They told me to put something in their beer. Your sorceress was drugged, and your bard was beaten. Then they were taken away. I have no idea where they are now, witcher. And that’s the honest truth.”

Geralt nodded. He’d heard enough. This man had nothing more to say to him.

“Thank you for your honesty. What you’ve told me is helpful. But I must go now. I must find them.”

He could feel the man’s eyes on him as he made for the door.

“If you’re too late, witcher – spare the town this time. It’s not their fault. Don’t butcher scores of innocent people for your two friends.”

Geralt stopped, the words stinging a path down his ears and biting at his heart from the inside out.

“Blood will have blood, Archer. I promise you that.”

And without wasting another second in the coach house, Geralt ran towards Roach and wrapped his arms around her neck, with blood pounding in his ears and jumbled plans of potions and weaponry vying for space in his spinning mind.

He would think of it on the way. He could plan on the move. They had to go – right now.

“Fast as you can, Roach. For our friends.”

The witcher set off at a gallop on his chestnut mare – her hooves beating dust clouds into the air as she sped down the road towards Blaviken, where already towering clouds were collapsing beneath the weight of the warm cross winds – darkening the skies with the threat of thunder, rain, and floods soon to come.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, happy Easter to you all! And welcome to Chapter 16 – which is in three distinct parts again, each of which are pretty unpleasant for our three favourite characters. Some of their experiences are a bit full-on here, but nobody is actually going to get hurt – Geralt, Yenn and Jaskier just have some testing trauma to put up with before they can be happy ever after together. And so before things can get better for any of them, they are going to get a whole lot worse...
> 
> It starts with Jaskier’s misery in the underground cell (seen through the deranged eyes of his captor), and moves onto Yenn channelling her inner-Daenerys, and finally ends with Geralt riding to the rescue at last...
> 
> But Geralt’s rescue mission doesn’t quite work out how he intended – and in the end he is faced with an impossible choice that he never should have to make...

By the time the clock in the guildhall tower struck high noon, he was ready.

Ready to attend to his guests in the dungeon at last, and set the magical potion racing around the hot blood of that pervert viscount who’d had the foolish audacity to come here with his whore sorceress and flaunt his wicked degeneracy all over Loklorn town.

There was plenty of time to bleed the man now.

The moon would rise full at sunset, and by then the potion’s restorative power would have charged through the man’s bloodstream. He would drink that blood fresh, straight from the veins of his dying victim – and as the viscount’s heart fluttered to its final rest the life force inside the worthless creature would be transported to his own aura.

His own strength and vigour would be extended for another month to that of a young man, and the viscount’s bloodless corpse would be sunk deep in the cold sea like all the others.

He only needed now to administer the potion and prepare de Lettenhove’s body with a heavy dose of pain.

The pain was perhaps not strictly necessary – but he’d found, over time, that it made his victims’ blood taste sweeter and richer. It made their struggles weaker as he drained them dry, and his victory over them so much more complete. More righteous and moral – these prisoners he took, they were criminals, deviants, miscreants. They deserved harsh punishment.

They deserved to die.

And he deserved to take their lives.

There was a spring in his old bones as he swaggered down the steps to the lower floor, making his way through the narrow corridors towards the sunken cell where his guests resided – in the old ale cellar underneath the guildhall courtyard.

Where the solid stone lining entombed all screams from the town above, and all horrors remained hidden from outside prying eyes.

The Lord d’Arcsea turned the key in the lock and stepped through the wooden door, pleased to see the lanterns burning bright and hot as he’d instructed. Old bloodstained rags had been set over the straw-lined cobbles to catch stray splashings from rotting into the floorboards. And the white linen shroud lay ready in the corner.

He set his leather bag down with aplomb, and felt in his cloak for the glass vial of potion.

The candle flames flickered back in the wide blue eyes of the strung-up viscount, still bound fast to the rack with the sleeping sorceress chained on the floor.

De Lettenhove made a rather pathetic site – his skin pallid and waxy in the yellow glow and his lip trembling to behold the appearance of his captor. The dark circles and bruises around his eyes were more pronounced now. He looked like a frightened rabbit – caught in a trap with no chance of escape nor hope for mercy.

It was most enjoyable – seeing the lowlife cad understand that he was beaten. And what came next would drive that lesson home all the harder.

“Good afternoon, Julian. I trust you have made your peace with whatever gods you hold dear. Are you ready to begin your journey to the next world?”

The man shook his head from side to side as d’Arcsea approached with the small glass vial in hand.

“No, you don’t have to do this, please! I can’t tell you anything... I don’t know anything!”

D’Arcsea laughed. It was always amusing when his guests tried to bargain for their lives. He was looking forward to hearing this one beg in that musical voice of his – once the rack was rolled into service that improvised poetry would flow straight from the man’s pounding heart.

He had been a famous bard, after all. This performance should be worth hearing.

“Oh Julian, I’m not going to torture you for whatever crass secrets you know. I don’t care whose courtly ladies you’ve whored or which noble gentlemen indulge your perversions – your pain will have a purpose. A meaning. You won’t weasel your way out of this with fine prose or grand ballads. The only thing you will do is feel pain and die. Now do be a good man and drink up.”

He uncorked the vial and held it against his prisoner’s lips.

The viscount tried to angle his mouth away, but it was all too easy to hold his face in place and pinch his nostrils shut. When the man struggled to breathe and gasped for air, the vial was forced between his lips and emptied down his throat with practised timing.

D’Arcsea covered those gasping lips with one hand and stared into those round eyes, glazed with fright, until satisfied the potion had been swallowed entirely.

He smiled into the face of the younger, weaker man and prepared to deliver the same malicious lie that he gave to all his prisoners.

The look on their faces was always priceless.

“Well done, Julian. I know it tastes bitter – it’s Black Arrowroot. The potion will stop your heart, eventually. It’s a fatal poison, without cure or remedy. Do you feel it beginning its work?”

He watched as his words had the desired effect on the foolish lord. The reddening of the cheeks, the shortening of his breath – the watery tears forming in those bright blue eyes.

The man closed his eyes with a sob.

“And now, Julian – now I shall make you beg for that death to hasten to you. Tell me, in your former life as a courtly bard – what was more precious to you, your ears or your fingers?”

Those blue eyes opened wide with fear, all too aware of the horrible implication in the question.

D’Arcsea produced a silver knife from his pocket, and held it up in front of the prisoner.

Those blue eyes stared back glassy and transfixed.

“Of course, I could always start with something less controversial. I bet all your fancy ladies have noticed those baby blues. All the men you’ve had too.”

He cupped one hand around the viscount’s jaw, and forced his head back against the rack. Those eyes had closed now, and the prisoner was motionless – perfectly still.

But de Lettenhove couldn’t play dead forever.

Slowly, D’Arcsea traced the sharp end of the silver blade across the viscount’s forehead and over his eyebrows. The thin, bruised skin around the eyelids shook as the blade was brushed lightly over them and around the flickering eyelashes.

“Did my wife ever tell you how pretty your eyes were? Did she stare into them as you fucked her behind my back and mocked me in this very same room?”

The viscount had stopped breathing entirely – he made no answer to the question. D’Arcsea hadn’t really expected one. He had other strategies at play.

“And not to forget the famous Geralt of Rivia? Did your witcher admire them too? Was that the trick you used to steal the heart of a savage beast like him?”

His words were hitting their mark. Tears were rolling down from under those lashes now – and soon the flood would break.

And then his pain could really begin – once de Lettenhove knew he was defeated.

But the viscount didn’t sound defeated. His voice came out scornful.

“Geralt’s heart was never mine.”

The eyelids of the bard flickered open, watery and hurt – but strangely alive.

“It belongs to Yennefer. I told you. Send for him – he’ll do whatever you ask to get her back.”

There was a quiet insolence in that soft, insistent voice. But even still, it held a beguiling quality that almost had him considering the proposition. The mutant witcher would be a useful ally if he could be persuaded to fight on the marcher lord’s side. And perhaps that brute’s service was worth more than all the gold the woman’s magic could command.

But where was this famous Butcher of Blaviken now? He’d not been seen since the violet-eyed witch had used him in Rinde to attack the town council. He might be dead, after all this time. He certainly hadn’t been caught in the streets of Loklorn alongside these two vagabonds of late.

The viscount was tricky, and dishonest, and was most likely covering something up. Was there a reason that he steered the subject onto the sorceress every time the witcher’s name was mentioned?

“Last time I heard, he was in the northern mountains, so you could – ”

He traced the knife over the round pink lips of the former singer, silencing him at once.

“You’re jealous of her, aren’t you? That’s what it is, in those pretty blue eyes of yours – jealousy. Envy. Oh Julian, you perfect fool. Did you think a creature like him could ever love you back – a witcher?”

A dry rustle of laughter stirred in his wizened throat.

“And let me guess, you tried your hardest but you still failed? Even you – with your poetry and your songs and your vast experience of whoring yourself out to all and sundry – you weren’t enough for him? Of course you weren’t. You’re a thief and a coward. You’re a one-trick pony. A one-hit wonder. A one-night stand. Nothing more. No one could love a degenerate like you. Not even a witcher.”

He studied the lines that appeared across the viscount’s haggard face. Even now, the man couldn’t control his emotions. He couldn’t hide his feelings. He hadn’t got the discipline for it. He hadn’t got the backbone.

He was all too easy to hurt.

And it was all he deserved to experience.

“Well, you know what they say – love makes fools of us all, Julian! Now you know how those husbands of your whores all felt. That pain in your heart right now – it hurts, doesn’t it? But I can take it all away for you. I can give you another pain that will consume you living, and you’ll soon forget your petty witcher troubles.”

With a smile, he stepped away from the man and pointed to a lever on the floor.

“I’ll be doing you a favour, Julian. Curing you of that sick perversion. Say goodbye to your lost love.”

He took the lever in hand and started sliding it forwards. Something loud and heavy began to grind – there was a time lag of a few seconds while the gears of the machinery rolled around – time to grin over at the ashen faced bard.

De Lettenhove was begging now.

“No, please – don’t!”

Those blue eyes were round with panic – his witcher was forgotten in an instant. It was always the same with these weak-minded fools.

For all their fancy talk, love was easily replaced in a man’s heart – if only the right levers were used. Fear, pain, mortal terror – these things could be used to destroy a man’s love – and destroy everything else that held him together. It was all so easy to break these prisoners apart. It was all they deserved.

And de Lettenhove was finally about to get exactly what he deserved.

The Lord d’Arcsea smiled, and pressed down on those righteous levers of pain...

... she heard a scream, piercing the air – an awful sound, choked with fear –

_“No, please – don’t!”_

And she knew that voice, but its alien tone frightened her –

_Jaskier?_

Her eyes opened.

The hazy scene swam before her in the streaky, misty glare of bright candlelight.

She was in the cell. The dungeon cell. Still imprisoned here with Jaskier.

Lanterns were burning in the dingy room. Casting lurid light on dirty rags on the floor – no, not dirty, they were _bloodstained_ with _gore_... And right before her Jas was _screaming_ and the man –

That man – the evil, aged demon man – he was there again. He was turning some machinery and making something horrible happen. The rack was rolling apart, and Jaskier was still tied to it and –

No

NO

“No, _don’t you dare touch him!”_

The world went red.

She lashed out from behind her flaring thoughts, grabbing with her mind at everything she could find to attack the man, to kill him – to stop him from hurting her Jaskier, to stop her lover’s screams before it was too late –

“Yenn, help me!”

He was calling to her – he needed her.

And she had to save him.

She tried to see him through the fiery visions of hate and turmoil in her mind – the violent waves of rage that she launched at anyone and anything outside of her dim sense of Jaskier and her own self’s boundaries.

Torrents of unchained power were slamming into everything else in a mad swirl of vengeance.

She would _kill_ that man!

Glass shattered.

A low, wooden creak splintered into a crack.

She heard Jaskier wail.

And the old man hissed at her in hatred.

He knew what was coming now, and so did she...

Above her, something rumbled – a deep, guttural force of scraping stone and rending iron – and from somewhere else – cries, screams – people were shouting in muffled, terrified gasps...

But her eyes could see nothing at all.

Nothing but flames, and fire, and the burning need she felt to protect her lover and kill anything that threatened his life. She would kill them all. All of them. With fire they would all die.

She was the fire. And she would burn.

***** *** *** *** *****

The sharp spires and towers of Blaviken loomed up ahead of him, lying bathed in hot, sticky sunshine while the black skies rolled over from further inland. The heat was smothering, and those dark clouds trapped the rising air and radiated it down the valley.

The skin under his clothes was drenched in sweat from riding so hard – and still the humid warmth blasted down the hill at him like waves from an oven.

He was thirsty, tired – but he would absolutely not look back or take a rest until he’d found his friends. He tried not to think of them, for to think of them was to worry about them – and he had no time for that. He had to be focused, and composed. His emotions would only get in the way, and hurt those people he loved.

He tried to keep his mind flat and calm – but some swelling current of dread was surging up behind his mind unseen...

And it wasn’t the gathering thunder that he sensed on its way, nor the roiling air that flashed already in the distance and rumbled in the glowing green hills.

It was something else. Something storming down from the town.

It was her – the woman he loved. He could sense her presence – she was angry, and hurt –

_Yennefer?_

What was she doing? What was happening?

A searing bolt of anguish almost blinded him and he loosed a groan while tightening his grip on Roach’s mane – trying to stay upright while the wave of heat and rage tore through his senses with the incandescent fury of a melting sun.

He saw fire, and stars, and horror – and heard her desperate call to another man – a man he also loved...

And then – as fast as it came – that awful blast of consciousness was gone.

And his ears were ringing to the fast beat of Roach’s hooves, speeding on towards the threatening skies of Blaviken.

Fuck.

Something bad had just happened.

He knew it.

Something had changed.

What had made Yenn do that? Why was she calling to Jaskier like that? What had she seen? What had she _done?_

Was Jaskier –

No, it couldn’t be true. No.

He wouldn’t think these thoughts! He had to find them. He couldn’t slow down now.

The dread that had pooled in the depths of his gut all day suddenly rose to his throat, his mouth. He was sick with fear – with the horrible, churning worry that he might well be too late – that although those spires and towers and streets were growing larger up ahead with every passing second – he was coming into Blaviken itself now, and in a few more minutes he would be at the guildhall...

But still, he might be too late.

They could be dead already.

Yenn and Jaskier.

What would he do if they were dead when he found them?

What would he do if Renfri was right once again?

She’d never been wrong in her prophecies.

What if Yenn and Jaskier were hers now forever?

He shook his head, and howled out some mangled, animal cry – at the passing trees, at the darkening skies, at his faithful horse – all of them had to help him, they had to get him there already. He had to save them.

Yenn and Jaskier.

Fuck.

Was that smoke he could smell? On the wind, on the breeze – on the air carried down from where the guildhall lay, where his friends had to be...

He tore through the streets, up the hill to where he knew the market square was – the square that he’d only just passed through, that very morning. And as soon as he saw it he felt his heart sink.

There was smoke. Fire.

The guildhall was ablaze.

There were people in the street, but they weren’t helping put out the inferno – they were running away from it – soldiers and guards as well as women and children – they weren’t even trying to put the fire out...

He jumped down from Roach, patting her still.

“Stay here, keep back from it!”

And he ran through the square, approaching the courtyard, going through the gates – and it was madness, there were people rushing everywhere. They were in his way, darting out from all sides making for the open market square, and he didn’t understand any of it.

Why weren’t they putting the fire out?

Where was Yenn?

Where was Jaskier?

How would he find them in this melee?

He stared around at the building – flames were spewing now through the upper floors. No one in there could be alive. No one.

If Yenn and Jaskier were still here in this world to be found, then they had to be out on the streets by now. Maybe somewhere in the crowd – maybe he should follow these people and find someone to ask, someone who might know – there had to be someone in this cursed place that would help him find them!

He turned on his feet, making again for the gates to the market square, back the way he’d come.

And behind his shoulder he heard someone’s laughter. Felt a fleeting hand through his hair.

_Wrong way, witcher. Unless you plan on failing them like you did me._

He spun around, expecting to see her phantom black eyes mocking him again. Tearing through his flesh and into the very heart of him with that gaze of the withered sun – exposing all his worst fears to fly up free in the smoke and snap at his face like carrion birds.

Her laughter disappeared on the wind, and where it gusted against the walls of the guildhall he noticed a door.

An opening door – and someone was coming through it...

But it wasn’t the ghost of Renfri.

It was someone made of flesh and blood – someone that he loved beyond measure and who should never, ever have been in a wicked place such as this.

Someone he had to protect.

_Jaskier!_

His friend was alive – thank fuck he was alive – but he was not alright.

He was far from alright.

The bard was sobbing – his eyes unseeing through swollen, livid bruises and his need to keep from stumbling on the cobbles – his hands were tied and he was being wrenched around by some old man. There was a knife at his throat.

Some old guy had a knife to Jaskier’s throat.

The witcher bellowed in rage, and the old man’s eyes snapped onto him in sudden recognition.

And not only that.

From across the courtyard, Jaskier noticed him too.

The bard’s eyes were still blue, but Geralt almost didn’t recognise the wild, lost look that greeted him there – as if his friend couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“Jas – you’re alive!”

The bard stared back, his eyes wider than ever. His lip trembled.

“Geralt – how – ”

But the old man was watching it all, and snapped his blade flush against the veins on Jaskier’s throat, silencing him at once.

The witcher froze.

He took a deep breath, tearing his gaze away from the desperate, helpless plea in Jaskier’s eyes.

This was no place for emotions. He had to do better than that. He had to think. He had to hold onto his feelings and not be consumed.

The simmering rage may have choked his throat on the way down, but swallow it down he did.

He forced himself to be the voice of reason.

“Let him go this instant, and I’ll let you live.”

But all he wanted to do was tear the old man’s head off. And he would do it with his bare hands – right now – but one slip of that knife and Jaskier was a dead man.

He had to be careful.

His opponent nodded to the open doorway.

“Your fire mage is down there, witcher. She passed clean out after wreaking all this havoc. I underestimated how dangerous she was – and I will not make that mistake with you as well. If you go now, you can still save her. The dungeon is below ground, so shielded from the worst of the fire. For now.”

He gave a crooked smile and tightened the knife at Jaskier’s neck.

“This one stays with me. I need him. I’m taking him to my ship, and if you leave me in peace then you can save your sorceress.”

The old man pushed Jaskier forward, making towards Geralt and the gates. Making towards the throngs of people in which he could disappear with the bard forever.

And his beloved friend only closed his eyes and stepped forward, helpless to do anything else. He didn’t even try to plead with the witcher – he seemed resigned to his fate.

In the skies above, lightning flashed – and a terrible understanding dawned in his mind.

His friend believed he would be sacrificed for Yennefer. Jaskier believed the witcher would happily let him die to save her.

The sad hopelessness on his face spoke for itself.

His friend had no idea how much he was wanted.

And the old man was dragging him further away from any chance of him ever finding out.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t lose his dear, sweet bard like this.

He could not lose sight of Jaskier. If he lost sight of him in the crowd then he would never see him again. Yennefer could wait – but he had to be quick. He had to stop this man right now.

He pulled his steel sword from his back and held it aloft.

Thunder growled in warning.

“Oh, I’ll take her back. And you’ll give him back to me. Because I need him too. I love him – every bit as much as I love her. And you’re not taking him anywhere. Get your hands off him now or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

The old man paused, and Jaskier opened his eyes in surprise.

His gaze locked on Geralt’s, and in that instant those blue eyes were filled with something beyond fear and sadness, beyond the hopeless despair that the witcher had seen only moments before. Something innocent, and familiar. Something that he’d seen for years in Jaskier’s eyes and never fully appreciated before.

Love.

It was love he could see there. The same trusting, believing love that Jaskier had always shown him, that he’d grown towards unthinkingly like a flower follows the sun.

How could he ever have been so blind as to miss how much he needed that love?

How could he ever have let this man walk away from him?

This failing would end – it would end forever, starting now. He would take hold of Jaskier, clutch him tight in his arms – and never let him go. He would finally come to deserve that love, and learn how to cherish it.

The old man laughed.

“Every second you dally here you risk her life, witcher. The ceiling could collapse on her at any moment. And you’re too late to save poor Julian here. I gave him something to drink some time ago, and the poison in his veins will kill him in hours. There’s no cure for it. He is going to die. Go and save your sorceress and get out of my way.”

A shock of horror ran through him.

It couldn’t be true – the man must be lying...

And as the blood thumped in his ears, he studied Jaskier’s face – but his friend didn’t meet his gaze. His eyes were closed, and they wouldn’t look at him. There was just a single teardrop – rolling silently down his bruised cheek.

And Geralt understood.

It started to rain. Big drops, falling slow and heavy in the stagnant air.

“Oh Jas, no...”

His friend heard his whisper, and finally looked at him.

Those blue eyes were filled with sorrow, and the faint nod of Jaskier’s head brought nothing but a wave of black dizziness across his thoughts.

No, it couldn’t be true...

No!

The raindrops intensified, rattling against the rooftops and hissing on the cobbles.

“Geralt, I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s voice was low and composed. His face betrayed the effort is took him to keep it that way, and Geralt could only stare in blind incomprehension.

“He’s right though – you should go to Yenn. She needs you. You have to save her. You have to go, now.”

Those blue eyes would haunt him forever – there would be no escape. He could never let go of Jaskier, not now. Not like this.

“I’m not leaving you.”

His friend’s face crumpled. And his tears became a flood. Washed down his face by the rain and pooling on the dark cobbles at his feet.

“Please, Geralt – you have to choose her, you know you do. Please, go now and save her – for her sake. Do it for me – it’s what I want for you both.”

Jaskier was begging him to leave. His blue eyes were staring wildly through the rain at him, thinking that this was the last moment they would ever share.

Jaskier was saying goodbye.

He heard thunder growl, louder this time – and was it his imagination or did the ground shake beneath his feet at the sound?

Fuck, what about Yenn?

The man grinned.

“Better listen to your friend, witcher. Go save your sorceress before it’s too late – and say goodbye to Julian.”

Geralt shuddered at the thought.

And on instinct, he raised his sword.

“If you take another step I’ll fucking kill you. Let him go.”

The old man glared.

“If you don’t leave in three seconds I’ll slice this knife across his throat – and then you can choose to have him bleed to death in your arms while your sorceress burns alive. Or you can leave and save her now. Your choice. But either way he dies. Be smart, witcher. Choose the lesser evil.”

There was another rumble, and the ground he stood on shook. It couldn’t be the thunder this time. The courtyard itself was starting to cave in – the torrents of rain must be loosening the foundations, and any minute the burning building could come down.

It could come down on Yenn, unconscious underground.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He couldn’t let her die.

He loved her. He needed her.

And Jaskier was right – he had to go!

But he couldn’t.

He had to try to save him.

Fuck.

How could he do what he knew needed to be done here?

He couldn’t choose between the two people he loved like this. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He couldn’t make that kind of choice. But then they would both die!

He had to choose. He had to decide who to save...

But how the fuck could he ever do an evil thing like that..?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, so here is the resolution to that scene I ended on last week. Sorry for the naughty cliffhanger, but the full horror of Geralt’s moment needed some time to sink in for him lol
> 
> So here he is, back in the ill-fated streets of stormy Blaviken – but how can he save both his friends??

The rain was pounding hard at his head – bouncing off the cobbles while thunder growled and echoed round the courtyard from all angles. The air itself was seething, and saw fit to flicker its fury in the dirty skies above.

But which mortal vehicles were rousing the wrath of the storm god right now?

Was this deluge another part of Renfri’s plan to help him, or to punish him for his litany of failures?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore. All he knew was that didn’t know what to do.

With a wounded heart, he met Jaskier’s eyes – his friend was still following his every move with desperate longing from behind the silver knife at his throat. And as the rain fell down between them, those blue eyes fixed to his at once, electrifying every part of his body, as if they shined with the heat of the sun for him alone.

And eye to eye, Jaskier’s lips moved slowly and carefully, mouthing a silent prayer addressed only to him.

Making a final confession to his sole redeemer, before death came to part them forever.

_I love you too._

Something broke inside of the witcher.

Something hurt. But looking at Jaskier in the rain, all those demons that had stalked and hounded him for years were shattered into dust. They had no power anymore – and the freedom of escape was instant. He knew without thinking what he must do.

Geralt steeled himself against the pain, and aimed his sword – ready to lunge at the old man’s head. This man would die, as all monsters should.

That was what he did. Slaying evil was his only gift to give.

And for love he would do it with Jaskier’s absolution.

But the old man – shaking his head in rage now – saw the movement. His own arm began to move –to draw that silver blade across the veins of Jaskier’s neck...

The bard’s eyes closed tight shut.

And as the witcher lunged forward his face was spattered with blood.

It was too late for him to stop the motion of his attack completely, but it still took him a heartbeat to process what he was seeing...

What had happened.

Because something had changed.

There was an arrow sticking out of the old man’s head – he’d been pierced right through the eye – and he was falling backwards...

The monstrous opponent he’d been aiming for was suddenly disappearing into empty air – the silver knife dropping from his hand and slamming onto the ground at the same time that he died.

And the only thing left standing before him was Jaskier, his eyes clamped shut and his body shaking with fright as the rain fell down and soaked him through.

Geralt spun round to check this new attacker, on guard and alert. If anyone else was coming at either of them – he would kill them stone cold dead. He was ready to take on legions. He would waste whole armies if they stood in his way.

But there was only one thin figure out there – silhouetted against the rainstorm in the gateway, standing watching him with an empty bow.

An archer.

It looked like the barman from the coach house... but what was he doing here?

The ale seller nodded at him, but made no move to attack, and Geralt relaxed somewhat. He turned back to his friend, closing the gap between them in an instant.

_“Jas – ”_

He dropped his sword and took Jaskier in his arms, pulling him close enough to feel him shiver through his soggy clothes. All thoughts of anyone or anything else dissolved for one simple moment – as he ran his fingers through that messy brown hair and felt his bard sob against his neck.

There was so much to say, and no time to say it. He didn’t even know where to start.

And Jaskier was pushing him away already – his eyes wet and teary.

“Geralt – get Yenn! You have to get her out. She’s still down there!”

The witcher sighed. He had to go. He had to leave Jaskier alone again now – and they both knew it.

“Go into the market square and wait there. Get away from this building.”

Jaskier nodded to the guildhall.

“You have to hurry, Geralt – it’s a wreck down there! Just follow the stairs – there’s only one way in. You need to bring her back before the whole roof comes down!”

But the witcher was already running.

The blood pounded in his ears as he ran to that dark doorway, with creaks and groans from the walls echoing around. Inside he found a passageway, and stairs – and the sound of something moving, somewhere in the floors above – something was sinking, subsiding – timbers were crashing together and the walls were vibrating with the noise.

Fuck.

In the dark, he could see each step clearly enough.

They led deeper down, and the daylight dwindled – but up ahead there was coming an orange glow. Was the cell at the end of the passageway? He sped towards it, hearing the creaking rise horribly in tone as he descended.

“Yenn? Where are you?”

He called out to her, as loud as he could – hoping that she could hear him, hoping that he hadn’t left her too long – she wasn’t helpless like Jaskier, but she felt fear just the same as everyone else.

He knew because he’d sensed it in her mind earlier. He’d seen the heart of her anguish and pain, and the thought of her suffering alone through all that – buried beneath the earth – was appalling.

“I’m coming, Yenn – it’s okay!”

He could see another doorway up ahead – hanging open and casting orange light down the depths of the tunnel. Something was burning in there – he could smell it. There was smoke, the smell of burnt wood, and rotten, mouldy and damp things.

He ran into the dungeon, and stared in disbelief.

The room was a chamber of horrors – with a broken rack half collapsed in one corner, and bladed implements strewn across the floor. The sharply pointed ends of the cutting tools and piercing hooks glittered evilly in the fireglow – amid the blazing floorboards – sheets and cloths and levers were on fire, with glass fragments smashed everywhere.

It was chaos. She had done this with her chaos – and there, in a corner on the floor, he saw her curled in a heap.

Sleeping. She had to be sleeping. The roof hadn’t yet fallen in – he wasn’t too late...

“Yenn!”

He was by her side in a second, but her eyes remained closed.

The skin on her face was hot, feverish – but she must have sensed his hand on her cheek for her eyes fluttered open at his touch.

_“Geralt...?”_

His breath came easier to hear her voice.

“Yes – it’s me. I’ve come to get you out. We need to go, now!”

She must have heard the urgency in his voice for her eyes opened wider, but there was something wrong there. Her eyes were too violet – too hazy. Whatever drug they’d fed to her was still clouding through her mind, and fogging up her vision.

Her voice sounded groggy and confused... and faintly outraged.

“What are you doing here? I told you to meet me at the coach house.”

He studied the chains on her arms, and grabbed one of the iron tools on the floor beside him. It was a small hatchet – and fuck only knew what it had been used for previously in a place like this. But it could be useful now.

“Tried it, Yenn. You left me waiting.”

He raised the hatchet and smacked through the chains that bound her wrists, freeing her hands, and gathered her up in his arms. Even through the smoke and fumes, he could smell her sweet and floral perfume.

“But we were there. We were waiting for you. We – ”

From her vantage point as he stood, she could see the room now. Her eyes fixated on the broken rack in the corner.

She pawed at the leathers on his shoulder.

“Geralt, where’s Jaskier? He was here with me! There was a man – ”

He cupped one hand about her head, trying to hide her view of the dungeon horrors.

“He’s fine, Yenn. He’s in the courtyard. I’ll take you to him.”

It was not the time nor the place to discuss Jaskier’s state of health. There was no time for arguments about whose fault it all was now.

If he didn’t get her out of here then all three of them would soon be dead.

Something shook high above him and groaned through the dirty, burning cell – earth was starting to pour down through a corner in the wall. And was the ceiling really starting to sag in the middle? It was hard to see through all the dust and smoke.

“What was that noise?”

“Fuck!”

He steadied Yenn in his arms and charged through the doorway – and as they went, the groans of squealing wet earth and rotten timbers rose behind them.

The orange light flickered out.

“I’ve got it, Geralt – I’ll hold it up...”

The terrible squealing stopped, and in his arms, Yenn went rigid. She was far away from him now, concentrating in her chaos. But did she have any power left?

There was no time to worry about it.

He ran, and he didn’t look back – he didn’t dare. There was earth falling onto his face now – but he could only go harder, faster – jogging up the steps four at a time.

And the light of the day was getting nearer.

The hideous creaking was tearing at the passage behind them even with Yenn’s efforts, but he was fast enough to beat it.

He tore through the doorway and into the daylight rain, still running from the hounds of hell that were chasing at his heels.

He ran past the corpse of the rich old man without a glance – past the gaping holes that now appeared under the sinking cobbles of the courtyard – he had to dodge to keep from falling into the opening voids as the ground beneath his feet disintegrated into darkness.

And only when he had sped through the gateway and reached safe distance did he dare to look back – just in time to see the whole guildhall collapse in a roar of dirty smoke and dust.

The fire and the flood had brought the whole place to ruin.

“You can put me down now, Geralt. You’re hurting my back.”

“I’m sorry. I... didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lowered one hand so her feet could find the floor, and let her stand up beside him. Her balance was drunk – dizzy and dangerous.

But she let him hold her close without any sign of complaint.

Would she let him kiss her, like this? It was almost worth the risk. Almost. But her eyes were still sleepy and she would probably take offence – and he didn’t want to fight with her. Not here and now.

He was too tired.

Suddenly, he was exhausted.

He stroked his hand through her long hair instead, admiring the way the dust and dirt was mussing it up in the rainstorm. Even now, even caked in dust and mud, she was an icon of beauty.

And just for a second, he closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet fragrance on her skin. If only time would stop and leave them together like this – safe and calm in this single moment – before all the demons had time to regroup and the fighting started anew...

But there was someone else coming up behind him now.

Someone he knew.

He recognised the tread of the footsteps. And the clopping of the hooves.

A terrible remembrance jolted him awake and out of his trance. For all that he’d tried, he’d still only half succeeded.

“You both made it out!”

He turned and stared into the bright, tearful eyes of his dearest friend – somehow the ropes on Jaskier’s hands had been cut, and the bard had found Roach amidst all the people jostling through the market.

The chestnut mare snorted at the sight of him – caked as he was in mud and building debris.

“Is Yenn alright?”

Jaskier’s voice betrayed his worry, and seemed to stir Yennefer from her dreamlike state.

“Jas? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

She lurched out of Geralt’s arms and stumbled straight towards his friend. But the bard was still nimble enough to catch her, for all his bruises.

Geralt watched his two friends embrace – Yenn clutching at Jaskier’s face and pulling his mouth towards hers – kissing him with hungry ferocity. And for his part, the bard looked like he reciprocated the same feeling.

The witcher didn’t know what to think.

When had this developed – between these two?

What else had he missed, while he’d been parted from them?

Had they... moved on without him? Moved on _together_ without him?

Yennefer was whispering something into Jaskier’s ear... but his witcher’s hearing could make it out.

_“I would have killed them all for you, Jas. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”_

She was stroking at his friend’s face, trying to comfort him – but the bard’s eyes were closed in a frown.

“No, Yenn – he made me drink something...”

And her purple eyes widened in horror.

“Not poison?”

“I’m sorry!”

Jaskier was sobbing now, and the witcher’s own heart was sunk by that sound.

How could he have come this far, only to fail his most faithful friend like this?

He was going to lose the man he loved. And so was Yenn. She was going to blame him – as she always did. And then he would lose the woman he loved too.

Jaskier was going to die. And Yennefer was going to hate him forever.

And he didn’t know what he could do to stop any of it...


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this chapter will finally conclude the little rescue scene outside what’s left of the guildhall. I’m sticking with Geralt for the start of it – he has some historical 'issues' to work through with Renfri after all – and nobody else can help him with that hidden part of his deep-seated and long-buried guilt complex. 
> 
> The second part will return to Jaskier, since everyone is so worried about him right now. Let’s all hope Geralt has some good news to cheer him up!

The witcher’s fists balled in silent rage against the rain, useless and impotent to fight against the nightmare that was coming. He was trained to kill things – to destroy evil. To save the innocent.

Why then could he not prevent this travesty?

How could such wickedness be undone?

In his ears, Yenn’s angry curses and Jaskier’s sobs were an assault which he could not deflect. Those sounds were wounding to his heart – scouring to his very soul.

Accusations in his mind.

Just like Renfri’s laughter, years before.

He’d failed again, and been outplayed by whatever malevolent force it was that stalked him without mercy and withered every hope he had under its pitiless gaze.

He turned away from his two friends, back to the ruined building – where the dust was still settling on the ash and rubble from Yenn’s maelstrom of chaos. Pockets of flames hissed as the mud and rain sought to smother them – only to smoulder on again in the rising wind.

It was a vision of hell, where the guildhall had been.

And right on cue, just as he thought of the devil... there she appeared – in her red blouse and black leathers – soot and ash in her hair to match those dark and sunless eyes that watched him from the gateway.

_Did you think you’d got rid of me that easily, witcher? You can think again._

He didn’t have the strength for this now. He didn’t have the time.

“Why? Why have you done this?”

His voice was low – a hiss of rage that was lost on the falling raindrops and dying storm.

But Renfri just laughed.

_I’ll never leave you, Geralt. You should know that by now. Those others that you love – your Yenn and your Jaskier – they might leave you. But I never will. I’ll be with you always, Geralt. Every death you cause brings me back to you._

He shook his head.

There had to be another way.

Every curse could be broken.

He’d escaped her once, for a moment, back there. Back when Jaskier had whispered those words of love to him – he’d felt released from her spell at last.

But she would have seen that, of course.

With her black eyes, she saw everything.

“I came here to find them. To save them both. And I’ve failed him, just like I failed you.”

Her lips twisted into a smile.

_My poor, noble Geralt. Always half right, and always half wrong._

He stared into those endless, pitiless eyes – glittering like the sky at night – or the flat, becalmed waters under the new moon.

“I’m sorry, Renfri. I’m sorry for failing you. If you want someone to pay – then take me. Leave Jaskier alone.”

She approached him from the pile of cinders and debris, walking in a straight line to him without blinking.

_No, Geralt. I like you just the way you are. If you were dead like me, then where would I come to visit?_

Maybe she wanted him to beg her.

To admit at last that her powers were far greater than he was. To praise and exalt her, and submit to her will and slide down into that abyss alongside her – just as long as she left his friends unharmed.

He would do it all – if that’s what it took.

He had to make her listen. He had to find a way to save Jaskier.

But she was smiling now – her red lips inches apart from his own – studying his face with satisfied recognition.

_But I don’t want your bard either, Geralt. I didn’t come to kill him just to spite you. You told me that I was no monster, don’t you remember?_

He nodded. He remembered saying it well enough.

And it had been true – once.

“Then tell me how I can save him. Tell me what to do.”

But instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

There was a warmth there, seeping into him from her deathly embrace. Her hair was tickling at his cheek. And she seemed as alive to him then as that night in the woods.

Her lips were soft against his ear.

_Like this, Geralt. That’s all you need to do._

And for a second, he was back in those woods with her again – she was kissing him under the trees, and he remembered a memory of this very moment had clutched at his heart even then.

A memory that he’d forgotten until now. Of being right here – in the courtyard where he’d killed her – even as she’d held him close and kissed him slowly under the stars. Her hair had smelled like campfire smoke, and her skin had been hot to the touch, and her breath had tasted like every intoxicating substance he’d ever known rolling through his veins forever.

_Don’t you remember how it felt, Geralt. Every little detail?_

He opened his eyes, jolted away from her by a thought.

The scene was still the same – but Renfri was gone now from sight. Only her laughter rang on in his mind, as he surveyed the charred ruins and softening rain.

Maybe she’d never been there at all. Or maybe she’d told him all of this, long ago, in some ill remembered dream...

But he knew what to do now. She’d given him that much, at least. And it was something far more than he’d ever expected from her.

She’d given him hope.

And as he turned to face his friends, he finally knew exactly what to do...

... Yenn was still wavering between the rage and denial stage of grief, as was he.

“You’re not going to die while I’m here, Jas. I’ll find every single drop of poison in your blood and destroy each one – you just watch me!”

Yenn’s faith in her own abilities had once irked him – but not anymore.

Now it was all rather touching – her belief that she could still save him. And to be fair, she’d managed to bring a whole building down with the sheer force of her will, so maybe this time he should listen to her.

She had saved him before. So why not again?

He searched in her violet eyes and saw her frank sincerity shining out for him – along with the blazing light of whatever drug-induced delirium still afflicted her mind.

Yenn was barely able to stand on her own two feet.

She clung to him for support as much as he did to her, and it was going to be hard to let her down like this.

She was going to be so angry at him for dying – he wouldn’t put it past her resurrecting him on the spot just so she could rage at him for abandoning her.

The thought brought fresh tears to his eyes.

“Oh, I believe you, Yenn. You’ve done so much for me. And I’ve never thanked you for any of it – never told you how great I think you are. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” 

“It’s alright – don’t cry, Jas. It’s all going to be alright now he’s here. You’ll see.”

With a shiver he stared over at the witcher.

The monster-killer was striding towards them now, moving with a purpose that was both unnerving and exhilarating.

Those keen amber eyes locked on to his own, and there was a plea now in them – a silent appeal for him alone to see.

Did the witcher want him to stay put this time, and not run away?

But it was too late now for him to run away.

There was only one place he was going, and it was even worse than the cold isolation and contemptuous disregard he’d come to expect from this walking disaster of a love affair.

“Geralt. I didn’t think you’d find us. Not here. That’s what Yenn said.”

The witcher shook his head.

“I had some help along the way.”

In his arms, Yennefer stirred and murmured against his chest.

“To bring us together, Jas. You needed him here.”

The witcher looked sheepish.

And Jaskier only nodded tartly back.

“I see, right. Well done – really! You saved her life. If you hadn’t come... things would be worse.”

His former friend stopped with a sad smile.

“Things can’t be much worse, Jas. Not for you.”

There was a heat in his cheeks as the words hit home. The witcher always had a cruel answer, and this time there was no hiding from the cold truth in that flinty voice.

“You’re right. It doesn’t get much worse for me, not now. Is that what you came here to tell me?”

The witcher shook his head.

“I need to speak to Yenn for a second, Jas. Stay right where you are.”

Hurt and disbelief forced him backwards on his feet.

Time to leave them both to it, was that it?

He wasn’t even dead yet – and they were already freezing him out like this?

A wave of dizziness swept up, and he stumbled backwards, turning to grip onto the steady presence of Roach.

The horse let him cling on to her side, and made some soothing nicker just for him.

He closed his eyes, trying to stop the pain that fluttered at his chest.

Was this the start of it?

Was this him dying now?

He didn’t want to die in front of the witcher. He didn’t want to see those orange eyes staring down at him in pity as he breathed his last. One final lasting humiliation even as he craved for love.

Fuck this, it had been a _terrible_ idea coming here! The worse ever. The worst mistake he’d ever make.

Apart from ever approaching Geralt of Rivia in that fucking tavern in the first place.

Fuck!

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

A big hand, strong and warm.

Some heaving sigh of despair escaped his lips.

And he heard the voice, the one he heard every night in his dreams.

“Jaskier, look at me. Please.”

With shaking breath, he shuffled around to face his tormentor. Sandwiched between the witcher and his horse, there was no running from him now.

But Geralt’s face was gentle. Even as the witcher’s eyes travelled over his face, scanned his whole body, and returned to his eyes – there was a soft light in that amber gaze that showed itself only rarely.

A light inside as if the sun shone through those orange irises.

A light that shone just for him.

Without thinking, he threw his hands around Geralt’s waist.

“Why did you tell me that you loved me?”

The witcher clutched back at his shoulders, and the light in those eyes dimmed as the hurt in the accusation tore through them both.

“Jaskier, I do love you.”

And for all that he’d waited so long to hear Geralt say them – those words only stung inside his chest.

He stared back, confused by how much sorrow that affirmation now brought him.

“It’s too late for us, Geralt. There’s no more time.”

His friend shook his head. A grimace of dismay marred that fine-featured face.

“No, don’t say that. I love you – and you love me. I know you do, bard. You just told me.”

There was a fog descending over his eyes. He had to keep blinking just to clear them.

“When I thought I was about to die.”

A hand traced across his cheek, wiping something wet away.

“You’re not going to die, Jaskier. I won’t let that happen.”

The amber eyes were staring at him with intent now. There was a question. A question for him alone.

And he knew the answer. The answer was always the same.

He squeezed his grip on the witcher’s waist, and the hand on his cheek tilted his face up – so their lips could meet on an equal footing.

He let his mind unravel.

It was easier to let his thoughts go quietly. Gentle, and sensual – just like the way Geralt kissed him. All their barriers were dropped and inhibitions forgotten – what was the point of them now anyway?

What had ever been the point of any of it, except to waste their time?

They should have lost years to each other like this, and not to their mutual loneliness and longing.

How fucking stupid they’d both been.

He pulled Geralt closer to him, as if their closeness now could make up for all that lost time.

Or all the time they would miss in the future – when that poison tore down what had taken them a lifetime to build in this single moment of truth.

But the witcher was already pulling away from him – bringing this moment to its close well before he was ready. If they didn’t stop, maybe reality wouldn’t find them and force them further apart.

Maybe they could stay here – together forever – and everything would be alright just like Yenn had promised...

“Jaskier, you taste _good.”_

It was heartfelt praise, even if the witcher was no poet.

And despite himself and their situation, he couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s uh... an _unusua_ l thing to say, Geralt. But thanks for your review.”

The witcher was grinning at him.

It was weird.

Was there something wrong? Was this all a dream, right now – surfing the crest of some hideous welling nightmare?

“No, Jas. You taste _good_. Just like last time I kissed you.”

Just like last time...

That time in the woods, years ago.

“That time when you pretended the next day it had never happened? You made me feel so bad, Geralt. I wanted to be angry at you, but it was all just too ridiculous.”

The witcher stroked his cheek.

“I know. And I’m sorry. I was scared, Jas. Scared of losing you.”

The words made him blink away a tear.

“And now we’re going to lose each other anyway. Great plan, Geralt.”

But the witcher gripped both hands against his face, looking him right in the eyes. The intensity of that amber was almost too much – too searching, too painful.

“No, Jas. You taste exactly like you should. Don’t you get it? There’s no poison. I would know. I would taste it on your breath, even if I didn’t know what it was. But there’s nothing. Only you.”

He had to close his eyes to collect his thoughts, because suddenly his head was spinning.

“You mean... that you... Geralt! You didn’t just kiss me for a _taste test_ , did you?”

The developing line of suspicion was cut off by another kiss – but it was too much, he had to be sure that he’d understood...

“Geralt – ”

The witcher stared back at him, the light still in those eyes.

Behind him, Yenn was watching them both with a grin.

She was in on it too, wasn’t she? Geralt had somehow known there was no poison, and he’d whispered it to her while his own back had been turned.

But as he watched them both, he saw nothing but happiness on their faces. Nothing but relief.

Fuck, that’s what he felt too. Not confusion. Not anger.

A sweet rage of blissful relief.

“You mean... I’ve not been poisoned, and I’m not going to die?”

The witcher smiled.

“My clever bard.”

“Well... then what... what did he make me drink?”

“Something to make you think you were going to die, Jas. Something to frighten you. Just so he could hurt you more.”

“You mean... it was nothing? Not some weird truth potion, or... anything else?”

Geralt’s voice was soft.

“Probably just common kitchen herbs, Jas. You’re not hallucinating.”

This was too much.

“Ah, fuck! Geralt, I think I need a lie down.”

The witcher studied him thoughtfully.

“That can be arranged.”

“And maybe a drink too. Maybe a whole pitcher of vodka!”

Geralt was taking his hand, letting him lean on him. Walking him back to Yenn.

The sorceress held him up even as the witcher let him go.

Suddenly there was little strength in his legs, and the shock of everything that had just happened was closing in and trapping the air in his chest.

“Jas, whatever you want. Stay with Yenn. I’m going to talk to someone, find us somewhere to go. But you two – stay here.”

He watched as the witcher prowled off into the crowd – approaching the same thin old archer who’d shot the arrow that saved his life back in the courtyard.

The old man who’d cut his hands free, and helped him to safety.

He should have known the witcher was behind it all.

He should never have doubted Geralt.

He never would again.

“Yenn, I think you were right earlier. What you said.”

She smiled lazily back at him, and squeezed his hand in hers.

“Just as long as you two are speaking again. All that moping around was boring me, Jas.”

He laughed.

And was it the first time in weeks that his laughter sounded genuine to his ears?

“Well, if he gets broody – or I get mopey – please step right in and sort us out. Just, you know. Don’t turn us into anything too horrible.”

“I’m sure I can think of other things to do to you both to make sure you play nice together.”

Those violet eyes stared back at him, and her hand reached around his waist.

And for a moment he was so wrapped up in those eyes and that suggested vision that he didn’t hear the witcher’s return.

“There’s a cottage by the coast. Just outside Loklorn. It’s a few hours’ ride, but we can take it slow. Old Archer over there says we can stay in his cottage as long as we want.”

Jaskier stared back at the old man, watching him disappear into the crowd.

“Why is he helping us, Geralt? Is it some kind of trap?”

Yenn snorted.

“I’d portal us off somewhere else. But I need to rest first. If there’s any trouble I’ll be ready for it later.”

The witcher shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s a trap. He had more reason to kill that margrave more than anyone else around here. And look – does anyone seem to be in mourning? Has anyone come to arrest us, here and now?”

Jaskier looked around the courtyard, but his friend was right.

The villagers were milling around, muttering in hushed excitement and pointing at the wreckage of the old building.

No doubt everyone in Blaviken was just happy to be rid of the crazy old bastard too.

He nodded in agreement.

“I’m happy to go. I don’t know how well I can walk, but I can – ”

“You can take Roach.”

He stared in surprise at this most unexpectedly generous offer.

“You want me to ride your horse? Geralt, are you sure? Are you feeling okay?”

His friend walked up to him and flashed a sly smile.

“What’s wrong, Jas? You ride well.”

“Yes, but... you’ve never let me...”

“I’ve never let you do lot of things. But that’s all over now.”

The witcher shared a glance with Yenn and winked.

“You can help Jas on Roach. Make sure he doesn’t fall off in surprise.”

The sorceress pointed to the brightening sky.

“Let’s just go before the rain comes back. I’ve had enough of this horrible town. Geralt, I can see why you hate it so much here.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier saw the amber eyes close for a moment, before they flickered back to him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up with that look.

“The place has its merits.”

And the witcher smiled.

He held out his hand by Roach’s stirrups, and Jaskier accepted the help in climbing onto the chestnut horse. The two of them eased Yennefer up, sleepy as she still was, until Jaskier gripped his arms around her tightly, taking the reins as she dozed against his chest.

And to his surprise, a hand brushed his thigh – squeezing slowly on his knee with gentle affection.

“Jas, I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. I want you to know that. And I’ll do anything I can to make it up to you. Whatever pleases you the most.”

The golden eyes shone up at him, promising all kinds of visions that filled his mind with dizzy longing. It would be all too easy to fall right off the horse while staring into those eyes – and the knowing smile on Geralt’s face made it obvious that he understood full well the effect he was having.

And later on, once they’d reached somewhere safe, that fall was surely going to happen.

They both knew he was going to sink fast and hard when pushed – but that this time, Geralt was going to be there to catch him and lift him back up. The hand on his knee still lingered there – a covenant between them both.

He struggled to keep his voice even.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“I’m sure you already have.”

The warm glow returned to his cheeks as he smiled shyly for his friend.

Of course he had. He’d spent years thinking of all the many things that Geralt could do to please him. It made him blush just to think of it, even now – covered in filth, sweat, tears and blood.

“Well, of course. But I think the first thing you can do is run me a bath, Geralt. I’m at a point where I don’t think I can get any dirtier, and it’s not quite the thrill I’d like it to be.”

“I can manage that. And the second thing...?”

“Uh...let me get back to you on that one. This is a public place after all.”

The four of them set off through the soggy streets, eager to leave the town far behind them and reach the sea again.

And as they passed through the market square, the sun appeared in the sky, adding to the growing sense of jollity and merriment that was building in the crowd.

People were smiling, and children were running around shrieking with laughter, while merchants pointed back towards the ruined guildhall and nodded in approval. Their many faces presented a united front of elation, as if some curse had lifted from the whole place, and lightened the mood amongst all the people who lived in Blaviken.

But there was one face that stood out as just a little bit odd to Jaskier as they came to the edge of the town.

One solitary woman, with short brown hair and a strikingly handsome face – dressed in a rather unusual attire of red blouse and black leathers – almost like a female version of a witcher’s garb.

And perhaps the same thought had crossed her mind, for she stared most intently at Geralt as he walked on by – although the witcher gave no acknowledgement of noticing her presence.

But as Roach clopped on up to the shadowy point at which she lingered – at the boundary stone marking the end of the township – she nodded up at Jaskier and smiled, staring right up at him with large dark eyes that lingered over both him and Yenn in turn – and then back again to the witcher.

And without another thought, Jaskier smiled back at her – and squeezed Yenn closer to him in the saddle. He’d never before felt as lucky to have so much love in his life, and so much life left to share with those that he loved.

They left the solitary woman behind at the boundary stone, and after a minute when Jaskier looked back to check on her he found that she’d disappeared from sight – leaving the empty spot where she’d once stood wreathed only in sunbeams as the clouds lifted in the heavens.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for the delay in getting this latest chapter out! I’ve been horribly busy with ‘challenging’ work deadlines that required hours of spirit-crushing overtime and emotional burnout, but normal service has now resumed :)
> 
> I’m writing a couple more chapters as a post-Blaviken segment now, and this is the first of these. I want to give our favourite characters the nice ending that they deserve.
> 
> Geralt might have saved his friends from danger, but can he get them to forgive their witcher-inflicted hurts? Can they all put the past behind them and move on to something new? He is certainly hoping so. But first he needs to have some difficult conversations and face those scary inner demons.

All afternoon, the heat and dampness had risen high in the salty sea air.

Any lingering trace of the thunderstorm had passed away in the sky – now full of white streaky clouds and hazy steam as the sunshine scorched any lingering puddles into submission.

The track way that they’d taken had started out muddy close to the village, but as it skirted the high white cliffs and then dove down into a little hidden cove, it had baked out hard as the heat had intensified.

They’d caught their first glimpse of the blue cottage from atop those seaside cliffs – lying sheltered in its own white sandy bay, with rolling green hills to its back covered with forests and flowers. It looked to be the very picture of peace and serenity that Geralt knew that they all needed, and he found himself fervently hoping that there would indeed be no trap this time – that this time they had found some respite.

That this time they could be together, and work things out.

Without any fighting.

And at that same moment, the witcher had taken a sideways glance at his two very special friends who rode beside him on his horse, wondering what was going through their own minds. Did they want the same thing that he did?

Did they long for the same togetherness?

Yenn was still sleeping, for the most part of their journey. He saw her eyes open and close whenever Roach made a sharp turn on the road, but she merely squeezed on Jaskier’s hand and lay back in his arms, peacefully trusting in the bard’s care in a way that brought a faint smile to the witcher’s face.

Once or twice her purple eyes had rolled over to him, and he was surprised to see some strange glow of innocence in that gaze. It was not the hard, glamorous beauty that she normally wore in front of him, but something softer and more vulnerable.

Something a thousand times more beautiful.

He had almost reached out to touch her on those occasions, but she’d closed her eyes before he could get close, and settled herself back in Jaskier’s arms to doze off again.

He loved her.

He wanted to tell her that, and make her believe it this time. To make her believe that it was all real, and that no magic spells or charms could make him love her any more or any less than he had done since forever.

And if Jaskier had noticed the glances between his two companions, then he hadn’t seemed to have minded.

The musician looked more tired and haggard than Geralt had ever seen him, yet his eyes still flitted across every inlet, every wildflower – every breaking wave that roared below their path and slammed into the cliffs. The blue of his eyes was the same colour as the shimmering sea, and every time Jaskier looked towards the water Geralt was seized with a sudden urge to grasp his face and kiss his bruised eyelids shut.

To whisper the words of some whimsied love poem into his friend’s ear, and begin to mend the fabric of the gentle heart that he’d torn up so artlessly.

And later, perhaps he would be allowed to do just that.

Maybe later he would have a chance to show his two friends how much he loved them both, how much he’d missed them – how much he needed their happiness in his life.

He’d set his eyes back on the blue cottage, wondering what exactly they would all find in there.

Wondering what lay in store for them.

And with every step, his curiosity had deepened – to the point where he realised that he was nervous. Or was he excited? He didn’t know anymore. He was too tired to analyse anything, operating on feeling alone now.

The blue painted cottage had drawn closer at the end of the muddy track. It was pretty in the sunshine – with grass on the front towards the beach, and a little garden at the back. Its windows lay shuttered and silent, with only the swooshing of the sea and the singing of the birds in the trees to disturb the solitude that lay as thick as the afternoon heat.

And without a word to break that spell, the four friends had arrived at the front door.

They’d called out to anyone who might hear them, but nobody had answered their summons – the house indeed seemed to be empty, just as the old barman had told them.

But drawing his steel sword, Geralt had first sent his friends round to the back garden to settle Roach on the grass there, while he’d strode through the cottage door and looked around with his weapon raised.

Inside the house had been painted in bright colours, warm and well matched and soothing to the eye, but there was no signs of life in the place. The cottage was unoccupied just as promised, and Geralt wondered if he could indeed let his guard down here at last.

In the large living space inside the house, he found a second outer doorway that led to the beachfront of the cottage, and with sword raised he followed an earthen track through the thin rangy grass outside as it melted into the white sands of the cove.

The tide was out, and no boats were moored anywhere in sight.

He was alone here with his friends, and the heat of the summer sunshine was cooled only by the gentle sea breeze as it rolled over the woods and hills.

The witcher sheathed his sword, and closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet smells of the wildflowers in the grass and the sharp traces of seaweed that dried out on those white silken sands. The gentle swell of the tide – whether coming in or going out – was soothing to his aching mind. For some time, he just stood there, relaxing in the solitude and feeling free from all cares.

Until someone came stepping through the door behind him with a light, graceful tread. Before he even smelt her perfume, he recognised her approach.

“For an abandoned house, that garden is very well tended, Geralt. It’s lovely back there.”

The witcher opened his eyes and nodded to the water.

“It’s lovely out here too.”

Yennefer sidled up to him, with a cool deliberation in her step to hide her heart’s doubts – but he could see through her movements. She was too tired to hide her true feelings right now, even though she tried.

Her voice was quiet and soft.

“Are we safe here, then? Was it the right thing to do, coming here?”

He turned and closed the distance that lay between them, and saw her purple eyes widen. She had her full wits back again – her gaze was quick and alert. Strands of her black hair blew into his face in the salty breeze, wafting the scent of lilac and gooseberries into his face.

“Yenn – ”

He didn’t know what he wanted from her, but she seemed to know what it was anyway. And in answer to his nameless wish, she smiled – and brushed her hand over his.

But those violet eyes still searched through him, demanding answers that he couldn’t yet give to her.

He traced his hand past her cheek, brushing free those wafting strands of dark hair.

And he told her the truth.

“I don’t know. There is no danger here from the village. We’re the only people here for miles around.”

She smiled at his honesty.

“That doesn’t mean anything, witcher. We’ve hurt each other before – all three of us. But _some_ more than _others.”_

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, checking nobody was coming from the house.

“You need to talk to him, Geralt. He needs you. You need to fix things with him.”

He sighed. She was right – they both knew that. But it was complicated, and hard. And he was weary of it all, and unwilling to argue with either of them again. Not after a day like today.

“I can’t fix things with him without fixing them with you.”

It was the simple truth – but she stared hard at him. Her violet eyes narrowed for the barest fragment of a second. Mistrustful of his motives, as always.

Why were they always at such cross purposes? He needed to make her listen to him. Needed to make her understand.

“Yenn, I need _you.”_

Her eyes dropped to the grass at their feet, hiding from his gaze.

But he wasn’t going to let her slip away from him this time.

“I love you, Yenn. Ever since I met you, I’ve loved you. You know it’s true. You’ve seen inside my mind. You know how I feel about you. And you know it’s not magic. What more can I give you?”

She looked at him at last. And her eyes were softer. Sadder.

“I know, Geralt. I know you think you mean that. But magic or not, I can never be enough for you. So how can you ever be enough for me?”

He swallowed, and listening to the thumping of the sea on those nearby cliffs. He could still hear it where he stood, shaking through his chest.

“Nothing could ever be enough for you, Yenn. No one. You know it as well as I do. You belong to yourself, and you’ll never give that away. Not to anyone.”

She smiled at that, and there was a warmth there now. The sadness had gone. Just for a moment.

“That might well be so, Geralt. But what if I said to you now – that I didn’t want to share your heart with anyone else – that I wanted you only for myself. Then what would you say to that?”

He felt something catch in his throat. Was this one of her traps? Was she trying to catch him out?

“Are you _jealous,_ Yenn? Jealous of Jaskier?”

It was all he could think of to say. And he wondered if she’d be insulted by the comparison.

But she shook her head, her eyes bright.

“No. I’m not jealous of him, Geralt. Not in the way that you think, anyway.”

He shook his head, considering her question with some disquiet.

“If you told me to choose between you both, Yenn – I couldn’t do it. That evil old man tried to make me do that back in Blaviken, and I couldn’t do it then either. But if you _did_ force me to choose, I could not then choose you.”

She nodded, unmoved by the implication in his answer.

“And if Jaskier also asked you to choose? What if we both asked it of you?”

He shook his head, dismayed at the bleak direction this conversation seemed to be taking.

“Then I’d go back to my wandering days alone, and try to forget the pair of you. Not that I ever could.”

The thought of returning to tread that dreadful path for year upon dreary year again chilled him, despite the sunshine.

It had been one thing to live out that lonely life before he’d known that Yennefer of Vengerberg existed, somewhere out there in the world with her strange purple eyes and her bold beating heart. The cold had meant nothing to him until he’d felt Jaskier’s bright smile and easy warmth.

He couldn’t trade one friend for the other, just like he couldn’t live without either fire or water.

The witcher stared into the blue drifts of the glinting cove, lost in the thought of separation from all the love that he’d found he needed.

But Yennefer’s hand on his shoulder drew him back.

“I would never ask that of you Geralt. Jaskier would never ask it of you.”

She smiled for him, frank and blunt.

“I just wanted to know, that’s all. I wanted to know where I stand. Where Jaskier stands. I wanted to hear you say it out loud, and be sure that you want what we do.”

It was his turn to search her eyes now. Was this the truth? Was it another game?

“Can it ever be enough for you, Yenn? Me – and Jaskier? Is that what you want? You want both of us?”

She shrugged, her purple eyes flashing.

“It’s enough for just now. Don’t jinx things with any boring talk of destiny, Geralt. Let’s just see what happens, one day after the next.”

She reached her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close, close enough to kiss. Her lips brushed against his – just grazing them, letting him know she was there. And when he moved to kiss her at last, she tilted her head to whisper in his ear.

“I’d certainly like to watch what happens between you and Jaskier later. You need to make it up to him, and I can always lend you a hand if you let me join in.”

Something like a groan escaped from his throat.

What had her and Jaskier been talking about in the garden? Had they been planning something together for later...? He shivered to think what schemes the two of them could concoct if they both set their minds to it – he wouldn’t stand a chance.

But for once, it was a pleasurable shiver.

He raised his eyebrows to her in hope.

“Is that what you want me to talk to Jaskier about?”

There was a breathlessness in his voice already, and Yenn only laughed at his enthusiasm.

“No, Geralt. I don’t imagine Jaskier will need your persuasion.”

She fixed him with her purple eyes, and there was a seriousness there again.

“I want you to fix his heart, Geralt. Because it turns out that I’m not enough for him either. Not on my own. And I do want your famous bard to be happy. I’ve grown rather fond of him myself. You need to apologise to him. And make it a good one. Make him happy again.”

The witcher nodded, solemn now. He understood what he needed to do, and he was dreading it. He’d been dreading it for years. But that moment of dread couldn’t be delayed any longer.

“I’ll try, Yenn. I’ll speak to him as soon as I can. Where is he now?”

She nodded back towards the cottage.

“He went to the cellar to look for wine. Maybe you should go and find him down there. I’m going to run myself a deep, hot bath and soak all of Blaviken’s dirt from my skin, so you’ll have plenty of time to speak to him. Just the two of you.”

He smiled at her.

“Thank you, Yenn. Thank you for being so understanding.”

She sniffed.

“Thank you for coming to save our lives, witcher. We’d both be dead by now without you.”

And before he could reply, she’d pressed her lips to his own and was gripping him tight around the shoulders. Her kiss was hard, and intense – just like she was – and she broke away teasingly just as he wanted more...

He heard the sound then too – the footsteps in the doorway.

Jaskier.

Straight away the witcher felt a familiar fear – a familiar guilt. Was this a bad moment for their mutual friend to find them?

But Jaskier only smiled at them both and raised a glass in merriment.

“Looks like there’s plenty of wine after all, thank the gods. It must be our lucky day!”

His blue eyes widened, and his voice lowered as he scanned their faces.

“Would you like me to fetch you anything? Either of you? Or just... make myself scarce?”

Yenn spun around at that, away from the witcher’s embrace, and cocked her head at the bard.

There was some unspoken code between them, Geralt could see. They had planned this together. This ambush of him.

Or more likely – Yenn had planned it. And Jaskier was her willing accomplice.

Maybe it had all been a test after all.

To his surprise, he found the thought still pleased him. Their petty rivalry seemed to be over now – really over. They’d formed their own little team together, in his absence. Their own little team against _him._

But maybe, if he pleased them both – maybe they would let him in to be part of that little team.

“It’s alright, Jas. I’ll pour one for myself while the bath runs. Maybe Geralt would – ”

“I’ll pour myself one too.”

He broke her off, an idea coming to him. He knew the way to soften Jaskier up without using any complicated words – words that the bard could misinterpret if they came out wrong. He’d known it all along.

“Wait here a moment, Jaskier.”

He followed Yennefer towards the doorway, and saw Jaskier’s eyes watch them both leave. Together, and without him. He could almost see the doubt on his friend’s face. Although the bard hid it well. As well as he always had tried.

The witcher placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, half expecting it to be shrugged off.

But at once, those blue eyes were rapt on him alone.

“I have something to give to you, Jaskier. I’ll need to fetch it. Wait here, please. I’ll only be a moment.”

Jaskier nodded, and no shadow of doubt could be seen on his face. Only a slight frown of curiosity. He took a casual sip of his wine.

“I’ll be on the beach, Geralt. Come and find me when you’re ready.”

Jaskier caught Yennefer’s eye and smiled.

“You can both take your time if you want. I don’t mind. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

And with that he set off for the white sand that fringed the grass – while Yenn turned back to the little cottage.

The witcher watched them both walking away, in different directions. All still carefully choreographed. All still mindful of each other.

All of them exhausted beyond measure and tired of playing games. They needed each other’s love now. They needed each other.

But whether that could happen was all up to him – he needed their forgiveness before he could give them his love. They needed to be able to trust him.

And so with a frown he followed Yenn inside to find himself some wine. And to retrieve Jaskier’s lute from the depths of Roach’s saddlebag.

It was time to reunite the bard with his music.

And hope that he could somehow find some clever words to earn his friend’s forgiveness...


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this chapter is set on the beach by the blue cottage near Blaviken, and it sticks with Geralt as he tries to explain what’s been going on with his weird behaviour to Jaskier without causing anymore incendiary incidents between them. Our witcher has to be strong and summon his words to make it all okay again with his bard! :/
> 
> At least they have the nice romantic setting of an empty sunlit beach though, and (unknown as yet to Jaskier) Geralt has the lute to give back as collateral. 
> 
> What can I say? It’s all a bit mushy, and becomes a bit smutty later on too ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

By the time the witcher had returned to the grass, carrying Filavandrel’s old lute in its battered case, the bard had already made it out onto the sands.

He could see Jaskier’s figure standing all alone out there – past the waterline of the sea and standing in the near shallows. The bard had removed his boots and left them on the dry half of the beach.

The witcher strode towards the water, wondering if he should perhaps hide the instrument behind his back as a surprise. Instead, on a whim he left it on the sand beside Jaskier’s boots and wine, and hurried over. There was a knot growing in his stomach, as if he was about to face down some dangerous opponent – but he worried that if he hesitated he might lose the nerve to say what finally needed to be said.

As he approached, Jaskier made no effort to turn around and greet him.

The bard’s face remained out at sea with his eyes closed, as if he hadn’t heard Geralt’s riding boots splashing through the ankle-deep water. His face retained some still and serene expression, like he was in some faraway daydream, lost in the play of the sun and the sea on his bare feet.

For a second Geralt just stared at him, studying the bruising that still lingered around his eyes, and trying to swallow down his fury at the people who’d ever dared to strike his dear friend like that.

It dismayed him to realise that he could hardly judge those miscreants as harshly as he’d like – as harshly as they infinitely deserved. For it was obvious that he’d hurt Jaskier just as much as they had. Not physically, of course. But in other, equally cruel ways that had left deeper scars on his friend.

And he desperately wanted not to do that again here now.

Without even opening his eyes, Jaskier finally spoke. Maybe he had heard the witcher coming after all. Maybe Jaskier had been listening out for him – waiting for him – ever since he’d stepped off the grass and on to the sands.

Of course he had. Jaskier’s casually affected nonchalance could not hide the stiffness in his shoulders.

“You did well in finding this place, Geralt. It’s all so beautiful out here. I always loved being out by the coast.”

Those blue eyes opened, staring out to the dark horizon of the sea. Away from the witcher.

“You did well in finding us too. And Yenn and me... Right now we’d both be dead if you hadn’t come to rescue us. Dead – or worse.”

His friend turned towards him at last, but there was a sorrow in the lines of his mouth. A tremor in his finely-trained musical voice.

“This morning, I woke up strapped to a rack, Geralt. I’ve never been more scared, ever. I thought I was going to die today and I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I never imagined you’d come back for us, and save us. I didn’t think you’d want to save _me.”_

Jaskier’s eyes glinted in the sunlight, pale and sharp.

“I thought you would give up on me, and let that man drag me off to die. I thought you had given up on me on top of that mountain, weeks ago.”

The witcher frowned, stung by the sunlight in his eyes and the quiet accusation in his friend’s voice.

“Jaskier... I could never give up on you. Never.”

He stared into those expectant eyes, seeing them widen in hope – drinking in his every word with a feverish glaze. The ocean light rippled through them, somehow spellbinding him where he stood. Turning him to sand, before he could think of anything clever to say.

His mouth felt dry now. How could he ever speak to Jaskier and make him understand? Fuck, even talking to Yenn had been easier than this.

He shook his head, trying to shake the doubts away.

It was time to tell the truth. The only way he could get through this was with honesty. And then... it would be up to Jaskier to decide how things went. It would be Jaskier’s decision what to do. Whether to forgive him, or not.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet those dazzling eyes.

“Jaskier. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I think you know that. I think you always knew that. But it scared me – how I felt. How I knew you felt about me. Because I didn’t want to be in love with you. I never wanted you to love me. I wanted us to be friends. And for a long time, even that was too much. It was hard to have you in my life. I didn’t want you in my life because I knew what you’d do to me. And I was scared of it.”

He was shaking his head now, seeing the hurt bloom on Jaskier’s face as he listened. But he had to be honest now – about everything. Jaskier had always been blameless. It had always been he himself who had been the problem, right from the start. He wanted Jaskier to understand that.

He searched his friend’s eyes, feeling dizzy in that swirling blue light.

Jaskier was biting his lip with a frown.

“But _why?_ Why were you scared of how you felt about _me?_ What’s so wrong with me? Is it because I’m a man? You’re hardly the type to worry about what strangers think of you, Geralt.”

The witcher sighed.

“It’s not that.”

He corrected himself.

“Well, maybe it is a little. I’ve never cared for another man before _._ Not like I care for you. I’ve barely even cared for any women before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to make you happy. I need you to help me.”

His friend relaxed a little – sighing and wriggling his toes in the sand under the waves with a distracted interest. But Jaskier was still biting at his lip.

“I can do that. If you’d just told me, years ago, Geralt – I would have understood. I could have helped you, I could have made it all easy. We didn’t need to waste all this time, hiding how we felt. Lying to each other. Being miserable.”

The witcher shook his head, staring out at the shadows on the deep blue sea.

“I know. That’s all my fault too, Jaskier. It’s always been my fault. And I’m sorry. But you... you’re so fickle with your love. You never stick with anyone for long. You would have got bored of me like you did all the others. And then it would all have been pointless.”

The bard gave a brittle chuckle.

“Why do you think there were so many others, Geralt? It was always about you. All my life, since I met you – it was only ever you. The others were all pointless to me.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and stared out to sea.

“And maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I should have told you how I felt, a long time ago. But I never thought you cared. You never seemed to care what I said or did, so I didn’t think you cared about me. I thought you’d send me away if I told you, and then I’d have nothing left of you.”

The witcher shook his head.

“I thought you’d leave if I didn’t encourage you. I thought you’d get bored, and find someone else. But I was wrong.”

Jaskier gave a wry smile.

“Oh, I can be very persistent. You’re not the only one around here who’s stubborn, Geralt of Rivia.”

The bard’s smile faded.

“But why did you say all those things to me on the mountain? You were trying to hurt me, to make me leave – I know that. But why didn’t you just tell me the truth? Why didn’t you just tell me that you loved Yenn, and that you wanted to be alone after she’d left you? I would have understood. I would have left you alone. You broke my heart, Geralt. You destroyed everything.”

The witcher could only manage a whisper.

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

Jaskier turned round, and looked at him directly. There wasn’t any anger on his face, just a faded disappointment that twisted the knife even more painfully in the witcher’s heart.

“I know that you’re sorry. But _why_ did you do it?”

The witcher struggled to explain. There were no words he could find to make his reasons sound any better, and he couldn’t lie to this man – not about this.

“Because I thought you were glad that Yenn left me, Jaskier. I thought you were _happy_ about it. It felt like a betrayal to me, and I was angry at you. I wanted to make you understand that nothing would ever happen between us just because Yenn wasn’t around. I wanted you to feel as bad as I did.”

Jaskier nodded, staring down at the water.

“You were angry. And you wanted me gone without having to tell me how you felt.”

The bard’s voice was flat and tuneless.

The witcher nodded.

“Yes, and the easiest way to make you go was to hurt you. That’s what I _do,_ Jaskier. I hurt things. I destroy things. But I knew right away that I’d gone too far. As soon as I calmed down, I was sorry. And as soon as you’d gone, I wanted you back. That night you spent at the tavern – with Yenn. I’d come down from the mountain for you. I was going to find you, to speak to you. Before you left. To explain. To apologise. But then... her spell. It all went wrong. And I was angry at you again instead – angry at you both.”

Geralt was shaking his head now, seeing Jaskier’s eyes blinking down at the sea. But he couldn’t stop now. He wanted to confess everything. He wanted to make his friend understand that he’d tried. That all along, he’d tried. And although it hadn’t been good enough, he hadn’t given up trying.

He might never be good enough, but he would never stop trying for Jaskier.

“But I was sorry again as soon as you both left. I didn’t think you’d leave like that – in that portal. I wanted you back. I needed you back. And I set out to find you that same morning. I was already on my way to find you – wherever you’d gone – when Yenn called to me in her spell. But I was already coming for you. I would never have given up on you.”

He saw Jaskier’s eyes shining in the sunlight – in the crazy sea-shine shimmer. His friend looked so beautiful, and so far away – that it was physically painful to see him.

On instinct, he stepped closer. Close enough that Jaskier could reach out for him, if that’s what his friend wanted to do. Close enough to let his friend know that the offer was there.

“Jaskier, I think I’ve been scared of you. Right from the start. Scared of what you want, scared of what I want, scared of what you’ll do to me – if I let you into my life in the way that you want. It’s not because you’re a man. It’s because you’re a human. You’re frail, and you’re weak, and you can be hurt so easily. And it’s... terrifying.”

Those blue eyes were staring at him, confused now.

“Geralt, getting hurt is a part of life. You know that even better than I do. Every time you fight some monster in the swamps, you get hurt. The fear of that happening never stops you from putting on your armour and being a witcher every day.”

“Nothing stops me being a witcher, Jaskier. It’s not a path I ever chose. And it’s a dangerous path – for me, and for anyone with me. Whenever you’re beside me, you’re in danger. I don’t want to ever see you get hurt. And I thought that if you knew that I loved you... it would end up getting you killed.”

His friend smiled – a cracked smile, on the verge of tears.

“Geralt, that man in Blaviken. He wanted me dead. He wanted me dead because I once fucked his wife, can you believe it? I even got her killed because of it! The lunatic murdered her in that cellar he kept us in.”

The witcher could only stare.

“Hmm.”

And Jaskier laughed, even as his tears started falling.

“You think I’m in danger beside you, and maybe that’s true. But I’m in danger everywhere I go, with all the things I’ve done. All the stupid things I _do_ , without trying.”

Geralt nodded weakly. It was certainly hard to argue with that point.

“And what about all the people who’ve been hurt, because of me? I never meant to get anyone killed. Maybe Rosa’s family will come after me like that margrave did – who knows? Maybe I’d even deserve it if they did, because it’s my fault that she’s dead!”

The witcher watched his friend’s face dissolve into tears. It was too much.

“Jas, no. Don’t do this to yourself. Come here.”

Jaskier stared at him with those teary eyes, and staggered forward.

And Geralt was ready for him. He let Jaskier half-fall into his arms, and wrapped him in a tight embrace. The man was crying now – crying onto his shoulder – but perhaps not all of those tears were the fault of the witcher.

Perhaps he could comfort the bard now. Perhaps now he was allowed to touch him and hold him, in a way that they’d both wanted for such a very long time.

He slid a hand up through Jaskier’s hair, and saw those two tearful eyes staring back at him with anxious need. There were no defences in there this time – no jokes, no insults – no silly games between them both. Just Jaskier’s naked grief and simple faith in Geralt to make it all better.

It made Geralt’s own heart ache to see that look in his friend’s eyes. Even now, Jaskier still believed in him. Still wanted him. Still loved him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Jaskier. You know that. None of it is your fault. And I swear to you now, I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

His friend took a deep breath, but said nothing. Perhaps the time for words was over between them.

Reaching tentatively, the witcher planted a hand on Jaskier’s jaw to tilt his face upwards, letting their lips come together softly in case his friend pulled away – but Jaskier leant into their kiss, closing his eyes with a heartfelt sigh and pulling Geralt in closer.

And inside of that embrace was a whole other world.

He could feel Jaskier’s tears wet on his own cheeks, the heat of his shaken breath, and the warm press of the musician’s fingers around the muscles of his lower back – new sensations to him, wonderful and yet somehow shocking in how little satisfaction they offered him.

Because he immediately needed more.

He immediately needed more than Jaskier’s forgiveness – he needed Jaskier’s blessing, his protection, his acceptance. His love. It could never be enough to utter some magical words and heal all of his friend’s hurts in one single moment – he could understand that now.

But with each kiss, each embrace, each honest truth that was spoken between them from this day forward – perhaps with all of these shared moments he could rebuild his friend’s heart.

And he wanted to cherish each and every one of them. It was better that way. He wanted to be by Jaskier’s side every day and make his friend feel these new joys the same way as he did, as a dawning discovery of all the sweetness that life could hold now that the two of them could be together. 

For it was sweeter than he’d thought it ever could be – kissing his friend. Lost in the wine flavour of Jaskier’s breath, and the smell of the sweat on his body, with the salty sea breeze on their faces.

He clutched Jaskier by the shoulders, wanting to get closer still, wanting to taste his friend deeper and somehow make their togetherness unbreakable.

That togetherness was their hope – he could see it now.

If Jaskier still regarded him as worthy of love, then maybe the bard was right about him – maybe it was possible for him to do more than just hurt and destroy things. Maybe he could protect and heal all those things he loved too.

Maybe he could be more than just a witcher. And with Jaskier’s help, maybe he could mend what was broken inside himself too. Maybe he could rebuild his own heart around Jaskier and remember what it was like to be human.

Jaskier stirred in his arms, with a soft groan arising from his throat. And Geralt stared into his friend’s blue eyes, fascinated and anxious by how much their beauty stung him.

“Don’t let me go, Geralt. Don’t make me leave you now.”

The idea was so absurd that he nearly laughed.

“Never. I’ll never let you go again.”

A soft sigh rocked through his friend – he felt Jaskier’s body shake in his arms and worried for a moment that the man didn’t believe him. But when he spoke, Jaskier’s voice was gentle.

“Then tell me Geralt – tell me what you want from me now. Do you want me to be a friend to you? A lover? What am I to you?”

The witcher thought for a second, running his hands through tufts of Jaskier’s hair as if each strand was made of precious spun gold. But he already knew the answer. He’d known the answer for years, and all that time had refused to see it.

“Jaskier, you are everything to me. You and Yenn. Everything. And I want everything from you. Everything that you’re happy to give me. Everything that will make you happy. That’s what I want.”

In his arms, Jaskier only murmured faintly – some wordless and tender sound of pleasure. He squeezed Geralt’s waist. Pressed his cheek against Geralt’s cheek. And Geralt felt his friend’s face crease into a smile beside his own.

He decided he would take this an acceptance. An accord. That Jaskier was prepared to forgive him, and that his words – his truth – had been understood. But he wasn’t finished yet.

The lute was still waiting.

“Jaskier, I brought something for you. Something I want you to have. A surprise. If you keep your eyes closed and take my hand, I’m going to lead you up the beach and take you to it. Can I do that?”

His friend snorted and looked at him with open curiosity.

“You... brought me a _surprise?_ Really?”

But despite his doubtful laughter, Jaskier’s warm fingers encircled his own.

“Right, well. Lead the way, witcher. I promise I’ll keep my eyes closed – just, you know – don’t let me fall over with the shock.”

And so very gently, Geralt led Jaskier out of the sea and towards the little pile of their belongings lying on the dry white sands. With each step, Jaskier gripped on Geralt’s arm for safe passage as they both staggered from the incoming tide. And with each step, he was sure he could sense his friend’s bemusement growing.

“Keep your eyes closed, Jaskier. I’m going to give it to you now.”

The witcher reached down to lift the lute, taking care to lift the instrument out of its case so Jaskier would recognise it the instant he opened his eyes.

He knelt on the warm sand in front of his friend, holding the gift upto him like a devotional offering to some capricious deity.

“Open your eyes.”

The bard’s blue eyes blinked a few times, not expecting his friend to have crouched down so low. But as he saw what Geralt held in his hands his smug smile vanished and a little choked cry escaped from his lips.

“Oh, _Geralt.”_

Jaskier took the instrument without a word, his wide eyes locked on the wooden strings, flicking over it and turning it in his hands as if he were unsure what he was really seeing.

His eyes travelled back to the witcher, astonished.

“I thought I’d lost this for good. How on earth did you find it?”

The witcher studied the fine wooden instrument, remembering his lonely quest to retrieve it all those weeks ago.

“I thought I’d lost _you_ for good, Jaskier. When you left in the portal. Until I went looking for this, back at the tavern. I thought you might have forgotten it. And I wanted it. I wanted to give it back to you.”

The musician was running his hands over the smooth wood, his eyes shining. His lower lip wobbled.

“Jaskier, I always meant to find you. I always meant to come and apologise. I’m not here just because of Yenn. I would have found you and given you this, wherever you were – even if it took me years of trying. Because I love you. And I know you love this. And I want you to be happy.”

The bard nodded noiselessly, and Geralt reached up then – to take one of Jaskier’s shaky hands within his own and squeeze it with all the reassurance he could give.

On his knees, he met his friend’s watery eyes.

“Please forgive me, Jaskier. Please be mine.”

His friend sobbed and dropped to his knees beside him.

“I’ve always been yours! I always will be.”

Jaskier set the lute aside and grabbed Geralt’s shoulders with a breathless ferocity.

“I will love you until my dying day, witcher.”

A tremor ran through Geralt’s body at the sound of sincerity in that vow, so wondrous and terrible it was to hear – as Jaskier took his face in his hands and kissed him with his soft round mouth. But it wasn’t a soft kiss this time. Jaskier wasn’t gentle with him now – he was pushy, and needy, and seemingly intent on stealing away Geralt’s breath along with his racing heartbeat.

But in that kiss, all lonely memories of the mountain and tavern were banished from his mind.

“Let me show you how I love you, Geralt. Let me show you now.”

Without waiting for a reply, Jaskier’s hands were all over his body – searching for the ties on his shirt, pulling it off and then running over the bare skin on his chest, his back, his stomach, pushing him down against the hot sand – and Geralt had no choice or desire but to acquiesce. His friend’s hands were awakening a weakness that he’d never known existed in him.

But it felt good to be weak now. The time for being hard, for being disciplined, for being dishonest with his bard – it was over now. From now on, he would only ever be truthful with Jaskier. Only ever be soft, and loving – all the things he’d always wanted to be and had never known how to let out.

He sighed in pleasure.

“Do what you want, Jas. I’m all yours.”

He heard soft laughter as a fluttery kiss was planted on his stomach.

“Oh, you will be, witcher. I’m going to hold you to that.”

And then Jaskier’s hands were raking over the loops of his belt, desperate to get the fastening undone. And all at once, a strange sense of excitement surged through his chest – one that made him feel invincibly strong and yet hopelessly frail, tied and bound to every move that Jaskier made.

He tugged at his friend’s shirt.

“Shouldn’t you take this off?”

Those blue eyes smouldered from behind the sunlight.

“Later, Geralt. Not here. This is for you.”

He wondered whether to argue, but changed his mind. It was all up to his friend, this.

He could only lie there on the warm beach with the sun blinding him, and allow Jaskier to slowly unbuckle his belt and peel back his leather trousers. It only took the bard seconds, but each stroke, each second that Geralt waited for that touch made his skin prickle more and more – and by the time he felt Jaskier’s slender hand straddle round the length of his stiffening cock it was enough to make him squirm into the sand.

He groaned out loud, and wondered if Jaskier would laugh again at him – but it seemed his friend’s mouth had other business.

Even though he’d known it was coming, the warmth and heat of the other man’s tongue on the head of his cock was a wonderful shock.

“Fuck, Jas...”

The musician’s lips wrapped around his thin, tender skin and started licking him. Sucking him. Playing with him. And all he could do was lie there with his hand wrapped in Jaskier’s hair, and another kneading into the loose sand, gasping in a way that only made his friend greedier for more of him.

He was all Jaskier’s alright.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak – couldn’t do anything but feel every flick of his lover’s tongue and absorb this gifted sensuality – this special performance that Jaskier was giving to him and him alone. Just stealing a glance at the brown head of hair between his thighs was enough to make his breath catch in wonder.

Jaskier caught his look, and smiled back knowingly – running his tongue over Geralt’s cock with a victory flourish.

“I’m a hungry man, Geralt. And I’ve been simply ravenous for you. Aren’t you going to let me taste you? I can assure you... nothing would please me more.”

Geralt closed his eyes, whining out loud as Jaskier returned to his ministrations.

And with Jaskier’s permission, it wasn’t long before those familiarly pleasing pressures started surging into their final vortex – but something was different this time. This time, he knew it was Jaskier here with him – it was Jaskier giving this to him – Jaskier freeing him from this tension and allowing this release. He only had to look down and see his friend’s beautiful brown hair as it tickled against his thighs, or run his fingers over those slender shoulders to know who it was who loved him like this.

_“Jaskier – ”_

He let himself burst into that waiting, wet mouth, where each pulse and ripple of his was swallowed down with a gratified groan from his friend.

And with his eyes closed against the sun, those warm lips were withdrawn and Jaskier lay down beside him on the sand.

An arm slid over his chest.

And the only sound was his and Jaskier’s breathing as the waves rolled in and out of the beach.

He twisted onto his side to be nearer to his friend – his lover.

And for a while the two of them just lay there on the sands, staring into each other’s eyes and touching each other.

Something rolled down his cheek, but Jaskier brushed it with a finger and kissed it away. The witcher was only dimly aware of his own tears falling, and their revelation no longer felt monstrous in his mind. There was no pain, no fear in his heart. Only relief. Only joy, and hope. And the deep, sweet longing for his friend’s touch again upon his skin.

And that friend seemed to know it, and understand that need. Jaskier stroked his hair, and held him gently on the beach, under the blazing sun, while the sea rolled closer and the gulls swooped and cried. They might have both even dozed off there, for a time – the sun seemed lower in its arc and the heat was dying off when he next looked up.

Yet he was content to stay there, with Jaskier nuzzling at his neck, enjoying the peaceful surety that this time they understood one another. That this time nothing would come between them, or break them apart ever again.

Until finally his friend – his beloved – squeezed his hand and sat up.

“Come on Geralt, Yenn must be finished in the bathtub now. We should find her. She’ll be feeling left out.”

The witcher sat up, readjusting his eyes in the sunlight and seeing Jaskier reaching across the sand for his wineglass and boots.

The bard grinned back.

“And – you know. I think given the filthy state of us both, a bath is just what we need. You know she won’t let either of us into her bed until we’ve had a wash. And that would be a shame. Because I know she’ll have plans for you, Geralt of Rivia. Because I certainly do.”

Jaskier’s voice had turned husky, and his eyes studied Geralt with a rekindled intensity.

It was all that Geralt could do to stop himself from dropping his wineglass – with all the torrid thoughts that those beguiling eyes stirred up in his helpless mind.

He nodded, unable to speak – but his friend clutched his arm anyway and laughed.

“You know, I think I’ve been planning it all my life, Geralt”.

There was a sadness behind that laughter, he could hear it well enough.

He took Jaskier’s hand in his, and saw a shadow of longing flit across his bard’s face.

“Thank you, Jas. For everything. And I’m sorry that I kept you waiting. Later on, let me show you how much I love you. Let me please you. Let me make you happy.”

His friend’s eyes widened. And Jaskier couldn’t hide the hunger in those eyes anymore.

“Take me inside then. I’m all yours.”

And with a nod, Geralt pulled Jaskier onto his feet and led him back towards the cottage – their fingers entwined and hearts reconciled together – while the sun slowly sank towards the western waters that glinted like silvery gold washing upon the white silky shore.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, it’s been a while! Apologies, life has been a bit chaotic recently – and by life I kinda mean ‘my job’ haha. It’s the same for everyone, everywhere though, isn’t it? So I hope all you guys are doing okay out there, wherever you are.
> 
> As a confession: I have had most of this chapter written for a good few weeks now, but I was struggling a bit to end it. I’ve had the whole ending mapped out for this fic from the beginning, but when I got to writing it I was finding I just didn’t like the way some of it came together. So I had a wee pause, and I’ve remapped certain elements. Hopefully it will work a bit better and not seem like a weird turn of affairs.
> 
> This chapter is mostly focused on Yennefer, who is in a bit of a quandary over how she feels about all of her choices right now. While on the surface she has succeeded in many of her goals, in her mind’s eye she’s still reflexively thinking that she can have even more – but what would the cost of that choice be, to herself and to Geralt and Jaskier? Maybe someone needs to give Yenn a stern word of friendly advice...?

It had transpired that even out here in the sticks – so far from the saunas and spas of civilisation – that country folk still held a high regard for the healing power of hot water.

Yennefer had found the cottage bathroom to be well equipped with a wide array of scented soaps and plant oils, a deep and comfortable porcelain tub, and all the joys of modern plumbing there for the savouring. She’d mixed the water temperature to be more brutally scalding than her normal tastes allowed, and had embraced the way that the burning heat stung at her skin as she’d submerged herself into its depths.

The water was hot enough to burn away all of her hated memories of Blaviken.

She’d been soaking for an hour or more, allowing that loving heat to melt away all tensions from her stiff back and shoulders. Letting the soothing oil in the water still the jarring thoughts that rose and fell within her mind. The gentle pressure of the liquid on her skin eased her heart, consoling her fears for her companions out on the beach.

They could be trusted without her supervision.

They only wanted to be happy together – all three of them.

And they could all be happy – now that they were safe. Geralt had slain the wicked monsters, she had burned their evil lair to the ground – and no doubt Jaskier was already composing the lyrics to immortalise it all in song for the good people of the world to toss their coins to.

But the thought of their happiness together disturbed her.

What came next, now, for the three of them?

She had promised herself not to dwell on the finer points of her spellcraft, or think too hard on completing the ritual that she’d begun back in the mountains with Jaskier. She had decided that she should not – would not – worry about its effects on either of those two men that she’d grown to love.

Everything was under control, and everything would be fine. She was Yennefer of Vengerberg, and she knew what she was doing. She might not have been taught this particular spell in the gilded prison of Aretuza, but she didn’t need the approval of Tissaia de Vries to innovate with her magical workings.

But then again.

That same old scolding doubt came surfacing through the lavender-scented mists to warn her of approaching chaos.

She’d set her spell, all those weeks ago, and it could not now be undone.

So what would actually happen when the three of them finally got together – in the scenario that she’d long been trying to engineer, ever since she’d seen Jaskier sitting alone in the tavern by that cursed mountain? All she needed to do was fuck the unsuspecting musician, and then have Geralt fuck him in turn. And then her spell’s waiting energy would do the rest without her having to lift a finger. The witcher’s djinnie love curse would be transferred from herself to the bard, and she would be free. And no one else need ever know . No one else _would_ ever know. And neither Geralt nor Jaskier could seriously object to it, even if she told them afterwards. Which she had no intention of doing.

But was that what she really wanted?

What if in breaking her curse, she lost both of them? What if she lost Geralt’s love and sympathy? Or Jaskier’s indulgence and affection? They might both decide to cut her loose after the spell took hold, without her having a say in the matter at all. And then she really would be free – free to be ignored. Free to be alone.

But she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted them to love her, and worship her, and stay by her side forever. She just wanted their love to be _real._

Her love for them was real enough.

But how could she ever trust in the love of men?

Yennefer of Vengerberg was older and wiser than to be such a foolish woman.

She stared through the steamed glassy window to the garden outside, wondering whether she could trace the strands of chaos through the mists and see into the future, just this one time.

It was almost worth the try, but she knew her powers were still weak. She needed rest. She needed sleep. And she needed to feel some reminder of their love for her, loath as she was to admit it.

That need for them shocked her quietly.

How had she ever allowed it to grow like this in her heart? This cancerous love seemed to sting more than any other horror of the past few days, striking at her core and weakening her sense of self from within.

She hated this vulnerability, but how could she ever destroy it when it was tied to the two people she loved most in the world?

If she destroyed it for good... what would she destroy in them?

She stepped out of the steaming water with a sigh and reached for the towel.

There was only one way to find out for sure, and it was time to act. She would not be beholden to anyone, or anything – fear and self-doubt be dammed.

She would get dressed and make dinner while her companions sorted out their differences, and when they returned they would be grateful and remember well that it was she who they both loved. It was she who had saved their lives – both of them. She who had brought them all together like this.

They needed her more than she needed them. At least for the time being.

Yennefer clicked her fingers to dress herself, frowning at her foggy reflection in the steamed-up mirror on the wall.

She could find no refuge in her beauty right now.

But as long as its illusion still held in their eyes, then she was quite sure that they would both still love her true.

*** *** *** *** ***

The sun was sinking low when she heard their laughter approaching from the beach, followed by the growling sound of the surf as the tide inched closer.

From the thick pile of blankets she’d thrown on the sofa she watched the pair of them walk in through the door, hand in hand. In the fading light of the evening the candles that she’d lit were already starting to cast shadows, but the faces of her friends glowed with a happiness that made her forget her own feelings and smile just for them.

Jaskier dropped Geralt’s hand and ran over to her side. It took her a second to see through the excitement in his blue eyes and process what he was holding over his shoulder.

“Look Yenn – look what Geralt brought! Tell everyone in the town they can stop their weeping now – the most beloved bard on the Continent is back in business.”

The sorceress raised an eyebrow at the witcher in approval.

“Well then Geralt, you did what I could not. I looked in all the shops but there was nothing good enough to buy. Not for _our_ most beloved bard anyway.”

The witcher stood in the doorway with a slight grin on his face. Whatever had passed between him and Jaskier outside had obviously eased that perpetual frown of his, and the effect made him look more innocent somehow – more youthful. Less worn down by the rigours of a life spent staring down at monstrosities.

“It’s an old elven lute, Yenn. It was given to Jaskier the day that we met. It’s one of a kind. Irreplaceable.”

His golden eyes followed Jaskier as he sat down beside her on the sofa. And the witcher’s voice was a honeyed whisper.

“Just like our bard.”

She almost felt a stirring of jealousy at that . Almost – but not quite. It was amusing, to see him being soft like this. To dare to show it to her and Jaskier both, without fear.

She stilled the caustic reply already forming in her mind and smiled instead. The happiness upon the witcher’s face was contagious.

And she was too content herself to really mind his present fixation with Jaskier anyway – wasn’t that what she had wanted to instigate between the pair of them with all her scheming? Wasn’t that what her spell was all about?

And when Jaskier flopped himself down against her with his feet up on the seat, it was hard to do anything but feel relieved and pleased for her two friends. They were both here with her, and both happy.

And yet.

And yet she still wanted them both for herself. She needed them both to be _hers._

It pleased her to feel Jaskier’s warmth beside her again, much more than she’d expected. If she closed her eyes she could still see the broken rack in the burning dungeon, and inhale the panic of when Geralt had lifted her from the floor to see that the bard was missing...

She’d worried that something terrible had happened. Until she’d heard the calmness in Geralt’s voice, and then she’d known that what she feared couldn’t possibly be so. If anything bad ever happened to Jaskier then Geralt’s chaos would be unbounded.

And the witcher could conceal nothing from her. She saw through him – and although the man was frequently intolerable, insufferable, stubborn and quarrelsome – she respected him more than anyone else in the world. His loyalty to her was no longer in doubt.

These two men were the only people she could trust. And she would not allow them to slip through her fingers like sand on the tide.

Without thinking, she draped an arm around the bard’s shoulder and let him rest his head upon her chest. His breath fell soft on her neck as he yawned and stretched out.

“I must write something for you, Yenn. Some new coin song to celebrate the insanely terrifying yet undeniably beautiful force of destruction that you rain down on your foolish enemies. The taverns of Blaviken will love it – and so will the rest of the Continent! You’ll be as famous as our witcher here and everyone will be lavishing praise at your feet wherever you go!”

She smiled wistfully at the thought.

At Jaskier’s touchingly naive thought that it was her enemies alone whom she destroyed.

And seeing her reaction, Geralt met her eyes and cocked his head thoughtfully. He swept from the doorway to kneel on the floor beside his two lovers, reaching out his hands to grasp both of their knees.

“I’m sure Yenn is as excited as the rest of the world at the prospect of your balladeering, Jas. But when was the last time either of you ate anything? We can’t have you wasting away and depriving the Continent of this unsung masterpiece, can we?”

Yenn shook her head.

“It was too long ago. But there’s food ready in the kitchen. And plenty of wine. You two could wash before supper, and then we could listen to Jas compose this toss-off on his magic lute.”

The bard stirred lazily in her arms.

“Mock all you like, but you know that lute is a mighty source of powers – and the old girl has been starved of my touch for far too long. You can both just hold on to each other if you get jealous of what the two of us have together.”

She felt Geralt’s hand squeeze her knee, and saw a flash of tenderness on his face as he met her eyes. Fleeting though it was, she knew what he intended. What he was doing.

“I’m sure Yenn and I can put up with playing second fiddle to your lute, Jaskier.”

Even now, he was trying to look after them both, to protect them from their jealousies and petty arguments. Just like he’d chased over half the Continent to try and protect them both from harm.

And with a sudden sadness in her heart, she knew that it was the one thing that he’d never be able to do, try as hard as he might. For all his earnest stoicism – for all his diligent witchering – Geralt would never be able to protect them from themselves.

He’d never be able to protect Jaskier from that reckless optimism that led him into trouble.

Or her, from her destructive cynicism.

Whatever would he say if he knew about her spell?

She felt something wet in her eye and stood stiffly, brushing Jaskier off and earning herself a squawk of discontent for her rough handling of him.

“Go and wash then. Both of you smell so terrible it’s making my eyes water. I’ll pour you some wine and set the table.”

And at her decree, her two men retired to the bathroom as she’d instructed to set about cleaning themselves up – for the moment all in agreement and settled on her plan.

She only wondered how long it would all last.

*** *** *** *** ***

The dinner that Yennefer had prepared didn’t in fact last that long at all, for in truth there was not much of it.

She’d collected some herbs and salad from the garden, and found cheese and cured meats in the cellar downstairs, but that had been the limit of her culinary deployment. Not that her friends seemed to mind – they were happy together and the wine was good, even if she could see the growing exhaustion on their faces.

She herself felt far too fraught to feel her own tiredness. But Geralt and Jaskier were relaxed and untroubled. For once – at long last – the two men seemed free with each other.

She watched them over dinner, making eyes across the table – in little shared glances that she was invited into by both of them. Geralt sat with his hand on her arm – sometimes threading his fingers through hers, sometimes stroking her wrist – and Jaskier’s leg was wrapped around her own, constant and warm.

And if either of them noticed any troubles in her purple eyes then they must have taken it to be just the shock of the whole horrible day.

It made her feel some creeping sense of guilt. Of worry.

But she said nothing.

And when they retired to the beach outside to watch the sunset she still said nothing. While Geralt sat with his arm curled around her waist, and Jaskier stood watching the sea while strumming unexpectedly melancholic songs on his elvish lute, she only smiled and watched the incoming waves.

Maybe they were both too tired to hear anything amiss in her careful words.

And soon, the dark shadow of night fell across the ocean and engulfed them all in its pitch. The tide was high now – in the growing dim, she could hear the sea shaking itself close to the cottage, and wondered how high the waves might rise when the stormy season came. Whether the ocean waters ever crashed into the walls of the cottage. Whether the cottage could withstand the tallest of waves that might come when the sea flowed frenzied and wild in the dark.

It was too flat and calm to tell tonight. The sea had stilled its violence for now, and its grasping black fingers lay flat and gentle on the curve of the bay, stroking at the sand with languid sensuality.

The three friends agreed they were tired, and retreated indoors as the wind began to whisper through the trees.

The master bedroom contained a bed big enough for all three of them, with a large open window looking seaward into the blackening void outside.

Yennefer led the way into the chamber with a candle, and didn’t bother closing the curtains or latching the window pane shut. There was nothing out there in the dark vastness that could intrude on them here, safe as they were in the blue painted cottage in this sheltered little bay.

She set the candle down on a low table by one side of the bed, and lay down to test the mattress.

It was comfortable and fine, and for a moment she closed her eyes, listening only to the gentle sighs of Geralt and Jaskier kissing in the darkness as they undressed one another, and the faint sucking wet sound of the surf through the glass-paned window behind her candle.

She felt the bed dip as someone settled in, and rolled over to face them.

Jaskier lay on his back beside her, his eyelids already closing and his mouth falling slack. She doubted he’d slept much at all the night before – all night long he’d been hung on a rack and staring death in the face.

She snuggled closer to him and left a gentle kiss on his neck, but his only response was a faint smile and a clumsy prod from his nearby hand.

Geralt was stood over the bed, watching them both with a drowsy smile. Even while he leaned his steel sword on the nearby wall and removed his shirt, his amber eyes never left her and Jaskier. He rolled a thin linen sheet at the foot of the bed over their shoulders, and ran his fingers through the ends of her black silky hair as she stared up at him in the flickering candle light.

Part of her wanted to ask what he was thinking right now, but there would be time for that tomorrow.

They should have all the time in the world now to reach an understanding, and work out how this thing was going to go between the three of them.

For now, she should just rest and relax. What was coming could not be undone, and there was no point in worrying about it.

“Yenn, are you happy?”

She snapped her eyes back open to find Geralt still watching her, his expression curious. Without waiting for her reply, he padded around to crouch beside her.

She shrugged.

“You’ve made Jas very happy. I approve.”

He reached his hand out to stroke at her hair again.

“But what about you? You have to be happy too.”

She caught his hand with her own and kissed his fingertips.

“I am happy, Geralt. But I’m weak after today. You don’t need to worry about me. You don’t need to worry about anything now. It’s all going to be alright.”

His amber eyes blinked back, watching her intently.

“I always worry about you, Yenn.”

She smiled softly.

“And that’s why I know it’s all going to be alright.”

“Hmm.”

There was a faint smile on his lips as he considered her answers, and she understood he was satisfied for now. He leant down to plant a kiss on her lips, but found her forehead instead.

She let him kiss her chastely, feeling somehow childlike and vulnerable.

And with a nod Geralt withdrew from her side and climbed into bed beside Jaskier, lying down on his side to face the closed door. As if he was guarding his lovers from monsters, even now.

But Yennefer had to wonder if the only true monster around here was her – but that very much depended on the definition, didn’t it?

Was it truly _monstrous_ to betray the trust of those who loved you?

Was it _treacherous_ to undermine the free will of friends, even if it would only make them happy?

Was it _dangerous_ to risk untested magic upon these men without warning them?

She didn’t have any answers to her doubts.

No answers, no strength, no confidence. Just a churning mixture of weakness, vulnerability and a love that was deep enough to drown in.

And long after she heard the rhythm of Geralt’s breath slow to match that of Jaskier’s in the depths of some peaceful slumber, she lay staring out of the window at the wide, black sea, wondering if its watery whisper contained some secret message just for her.

She wondered if tomorrow she should try to break the spell, and let her friends be...

But every lapping wave outside seemed to speak with one voice.

An ageless, yawning voice that sighed that it was all too late now, for the tide would take its due – with a singular aim that was blind to all the mortal tears that would shed in its wake.

She was too late.

And all she should do now was lose herself inside her lonely darkness forevermore...

*** *** *** *** ***

Yet over time – with the passing of time as she sensed it, that ocean voice grew distant.

Something chased it away, dissipating its force with a dark luminescence that was denser than fire and water.

_Someone._

She felt a presence tingle at the edges of her mind – a ragged and tormented source of chaos that she’d felt somewhere before, in some other distant and dismal dream of death and despair.

A pair of dark eyes stared right into her mind, exposing her to a light that was brighter than the sun, and as black and crushing as the ocean abyss.

“You. I know you.”

Yennefer heard her own voice, inside her head, but the presence still gazed down at her from outside.

Yet it was true, she realised. She knew this presence well. It had been with her through all her terrifying dreams in the Blaviken dungeon cell. It had held her hand when she’d been afraid, and pointed its slender finger at those who would harm those men that she loved.

It was magnetic and powerful _._

It had shaken her awake when Jaskier had needed her. It had reminded her of her chaos when she’d forgotten it through the haze and pain and nightmares.

It had shown her dreams of fire and death, and Yennefer had unleashed her power as directed by its black unblinking gaze –

No.

Not _its._

Hers.

There was a feminine laughter ringing inside her head, and a shape coalescing in front of her mind...

She blinked, wondering if she was dreaming.

For suddenly, she saw a young woman standing there before her – dressed in red silk and black leather, with soft brown hair and treacle eyes as black as pits of tar.

The woman in red addressed her with a nod.

“And I know you. I know all about you, _Yennefer of_ _Aretuza_. You _have_ something of mine.”

The woman’s voice was mocking, and the smile that slid across her pretty face was sly.

Yennefer found herself shaking her head, somehow offended by the claim that was being asserted by those piercing black eyes.

“No. He’s mine. _Ours.”_

The woman in red shrugged in dismissal.

“That’s because I let him go to you – even though it cost me more than you know. I let him go to you both. And your bard knows the value of that gift well enough. But look at you – after all that you’ve done. After all those hard lessons that you were taught. You’re ready again to trade something of value in for yet another illusion. I never took you for a fool, Yennefer.”

The accusation pierced through her mind, hotter and more cutting than a dream should be.

And Yennefer found herself outraged by the insult, narrowing her eyes in resentment.

“I don’t know what you want from me – but since you think you know so much about my life, then you must understand that I only desire my freedom. Nothing more. The power to make my own choices is no mere illusion. I will not be bought and sold for trinkets. Not ever again!”

The woman strode a few steps closer, still staring right at her with those glittering black eyes. But there was a matching anger on her face now, in the red of her cheeks.

“Their lives are not _trinkets_ , Yennefer. And no freedom exists under the destiny that I made for you. You cannot escape your fate any more than I could, although you may yet like it more than I did mine.”

Yennefer glared.

“Who are you?”

But the woman only shrugged.

“For now, I’m just a friend, of a friend. But I could be more than that. And one day, perhaps I will show you all there is to see and you will understand more than poor Geralt thinks he does. But for now, it will suffice to tell you that I can stop your little spell in action. I have the power to end your misadventure before anyone gets hurt – but it must be your decision. The spell was cast with your chaos. And so the choice to stop it can only come from that same source.”

At the woman’s offer, Yennefer felt her head spin. Or maybe it was her heart. She didn’t know the difference anymore, if she ever even had done.

Was this woman right? Could the love spell be reversed?

But why should it be reversed? What harm could possibly come from it?

No more harm than a djinn’s love curse surely!

She felt her heart sink at the woman’s sudden frown – at the way those glittering eyes darkened as she shook her head in disappointment at Yennefer’s many and obvious failings.

Scolding her with the same gesture that Tissaia de Vries once used to such cruel effect.

This woman could see through her like glass.

“If you change destiny, Yennefer, you must know that the effects are unpredictable. Even the black star cannot see what will happen. Events that _should_ happen in one destiny may never do so. People who are needed might no longer be there to enact events. Do you understand? Your friends – your _lovers_ – they might die. Do you really wish to risk their lives for this game? To undo the stitching that binds your fates together? You would kill your Geralt – or your Jaskier – all for a false dream of empty freedom?”

Yennefer could only shake her head. Of course she didn’t want that. She would never risk their lives, not for anything, but –

But she realised that she was worried by the alternative now.

What did this woman want? Who was she, and why did she care for what destiny came for any of them? Whatever destiny prevailed – it would be a cruel one coming in. The cold front approaching them unseen through chaos was casting headwinds already.

How could any of them ever be safe when such icy forces preyed down upon them?

“But how do I know you will stop the spell? How can I trust you won’t harm them if I give you the choice? I don’t know who you are, or what you want with us!”

And at her words, the woman tossed back her head and laughed.

The sound echoed around Yennefer’s mind, circling lower and lower like a carrion bird.

“Oh, you can trust me, Yennefer. I will never hurt you. I would keep your lovers safe just as you would. And you will know that what I say has value, by the trinket that I once gave to your Geralt of Rivia. Our witcher wears a golden brooch across his steel sword that I gave him for safe passage through the woods one night, a very long time ago.”

Yennefer cast her mind back to the witcher’s weapons, and frowned. She knew indeed the brooch in question. Geralt had it fastened across the hilt of his sword, and it was a peculiar thing. She’d always felt a strange energy attached to it, same as with most of his witchery talismans.

But nevertheless, she recognised that energy all too well right now. It was the chaos of the woman in red – a rather strange aura that flashed cold at the edges. Funny. She’d always assumed that particular magical signature was just another part of the witcher’s own unique charm.

But it was not so.

Her own dear witcher wore this strange woman’s aura inside his own. And despite the flare of jealousy that snaked through her mind with sudden purple venom, Yennefer knew enough now to believe that the woman in red meant no harm to the witcher. And not to their bard either – for what threat was Jaskier to one with powers such as this?

So perhaps what this woman said was true. Maybe her little love spell really could harm them. Maybe she was about to bring death to the door of the little blue cottage where the two men she loved were sleeping soundly beside her with trust in their hearts...

She felt a chill run through her veins.

“Stop it then. Stop it all. You have my choice. I will let no harm come to either of them. Not to either of them, do you understand me?”

The woman in red took a step closer.

“I understand what love is, Yennefer. And I understand what it is to let love go. So learn from my mistake and keep them close to your heart. There’s a lot of things worse than me that travel through the woods at night, and if you do not trust in each other you will all three be ripped apart. You will need them both – as they will both need you.”

Yennefer nodded, feeling her throat almost dry up.

“What must I do?”

Her voice came out in a whisper, cracked with fear. Or was it guilt?

The woman stepped closer – close enough to touch, and curled her red lips into a sad smile.

_“Kiss me, Yennefer. Kiss me as if you love me. And don’t forget what I said.”_

Yennefer stepped forward as commanded, and felt herself swoon into the other woman’s hazy presence. There was a sensation of burning as her lips brushed against something heated – and a heartbreaking glimpse of a brilliant and pure white light smothered to death by choking black smoke.

It was at once as familiar as her own nightmares and utterly alien in its bleak, terrifying strangeness. Beautiful and warped. Dazzling – and as deathly as the grave.

Overwhelmed, there was only one question left in her mind...

_“What_ are you..?”

And as her words fell like lead, her mind seemed to sink into the black abyss of those glittering eyes, as the stars fell down into the pits of hell and the moon and stars were dragged backwards after them.

Somewhere in a vacuum, a lonely sun flared coldly into freezing darkness.

And a woman spoke with the stars in her eyes.

_I was his first true love, Yenn. The first of three. There are black stars waiting for you both. Don’t you or Jaskier fly too close to the sun, or you’ll follow me down to where the darkness all begins..._


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I am back (after far too long – I am very sorry!) with the final chapter of this fic – and it is a bit of a 8.5K monster so make sure you get yourself a nice wee cup of tea before you sit down with it :)
> 
> I’ve finished this fic today but the vast majority of it was written weeks ago – unfortunately I was finishing a series of original fic writings that had hard deadlines so I got totally sidetracked with them and wasn’t able to post this up. I considered maybe breaking this last part up into 2 chapters, but the flow wouldn’t really have worked like that so I’ve kept it in its longer capacity. But it did mean a delay in posting :(
> 
> This last chapter is mainly centred on Jaskier, and starts with a weird dream of his, then him and Yennefer having a bit of a heart-to-heart. And then I basically wrote a load of smutty filth with the OT3 getting off together, cos I thought they deserved some sexy times at their beachside cottage hangout after all the shit I’ve inflicted on them!
> 
> I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it all – it’s been a bit more ‘epic’ in length than I kinda anticipated – so thanks for sticking through with it and for all your lovely comments and kudos over the chapters!! :)

The air was damp and cold – so cold that icicles hung from the stone roof of the dark chamber where the water dripped down, pooling mournfully on the floor in the stagnant slush. There was not much light to see by, although the barred window was large enough to let the freezing drafts blow right on through the barren little room.

Outside, the sky was the dusky blue of nightfall – or the grey smear of dawn. He couldn’t see enough to be sure of anything, and so he turned around to look behind himself and –

And there she was.

Just standing there, smiling at him thinly in the gloom.

A young and pretty brunette with a scarlet silk blouse and a black leather bodice – ornate and intricately tailored, if not a little frayed and worn. Her hair was cut in a shorter style than the ladies at court normally wore – and he could tell from her posture that she was a lady of the court, even if she tried to hide it behind her muddy riding boots.

But what struck him most of all were her eyes – they were big and dark and watched him silently.

Even in the twilight, they shone out like the black craters of the moon.

He’d seen those eyes before somewhere.

He knew this woman.

Shit, had he... had they –

“Well, hello there. It’s uh... _good_ to see you again.”

He heard himself speak, but the woman only cocked her head to the side as if considering his sincerity. But she made no move to answer.

She was not going to help him out here, that much was obvious. Godsdamn, he must have really cooked her goose the last time they met!

Or not, as the case may have been.

“And I wondered how you’d been, you know, because it’s been – a while, hasn’t it? Right. Well. What’s a fun loving girl like you doing here in a place like... this?”

She shook her head, obviously unimpressed. And still staring at him with those weird black eyes.

And come to think of it – it had been a very good question, even if he did think it himself.

What was she doing in a place like this? And more to the point – what was a bard of his fine calibre doing in a run-down, freezing, mouldy place like –

“Jaskier. Stop your babbling and listen. I know it’s hard, but we don’t have much time.”

So she did know him then. Fuck, and he was usually so much better at remembering their names. He was getting old, that was the trouble – that and all the Geralt-of-Rivia shaped drama that he’d...

Wait a minute.

Geralt. He’d seen her somewhere – with Geralt. And Yenn, she’d been there too. They’d been... going somewhere. Leaving somewhere. Together.

Geralt had come back! He’d –

The woman held up her hand.

“Geralt of Rivia, that’s right. He’s a friend of mine. Of sorts. But I know just how close a _friend_ he is of yours, bard.”

The woman threw him a lewd smile that made him shiver, but her expression softened at his obvious fright.

He heard his voice tighten.

“What do you know about Geralt and me? What do you want?”

She took a step towards him, and he caught some faint smoky smell from her clothes. Of campfires, and bonfires, and leaf mould and mulch...

She smelled so much like Geralt that it took his breath away.

“It’s alright, Jaskier. Your secret is safe with me. I mean you no harm. You might not know me, but I know a lot about you. And I know a lot about your _lovers._ About you and Yennefer of Vengerberg, for instance. About you and _Geralt of Rivia.”_

Well, she certainly had his attention now – if that’s what she’d actually been going for.

He put his hands on his hips and watched her right back in the darkness.

“I see. Well. That’s nice for you. But what do you – ”

“You love them both, and they love you. But soon, Jaskier – soon you might come to forget that, and lose faith in their love. But I’ve brought you here to tell you not to lose heart. Never doubt their love. Never doubt them. They will need you to have faith in them. And it’s very important that you do.”

He stared at her, too stunned to know what to say.

“And... you know all this, how?”

She smiled at that. A real smile – warm and honest. Not one of her knowing smirks.

“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand it even if I told you. That’s all I wanted to say.”

He felt the cold wind at his back, blowing through the chamber. The _cell,_ he suddenly realised. And he realised also that she was about to leave him there, and he still didn’t even know even where he was.

“No, wait – don’t go. What is this place? Where are we?”

But she shook her head, and stepped closer – close enough to wrap her arms around him – and that was a surprise. She was warmer than he’d somehow expected, and softer too – and she smelled so much like Geralt and his campfires that it made him feel strange to have her holding him like this...

She leant in to whisper in his ear – and pressed something into his hand. Something light and delicate, small and dainty...

“You’re not alone, Jaskier. And you have so much love. I want you to remember that, whatever else happens. That you’re loved.”

He tried to speak, to ask her again what she meant, but her fingers in his hair stilled the questions in his mind. He felt warm in her arms, as if she held something each of Geralt and Yennefer in her own embrace. As if he was there with them both, and there was nothing in the world that he had to fear anymore with such a pair beside him.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he felt something wet on the side of her face.

Tears.

He opened his eyes, shocked out of his reverie – but the woman beside him was gone.

Everything was gone, all of a sudden – the cell, the stone, the gloomy smear of twilight...

It was all just black around him now – featureless and barren. Just dead and empty space, cold and lonely.

But he still held something in his hand of hers... the gift that she’d given him. He looked down at his hand, surprised at the sight of it.

Just a small flower, red and black.

A poppy.

It glowed with a soft light that lifted its fragile beauty, strong enough to ward off the enclosing darkness in a friendly vision of hope. And without knowing why he did so, Jaskier tucked the little flower behind his ear with a smile on his face...

*** *** *** *** ***

He awoke half naked to the sound of his own name coming from another woman’s lips. And this time, he knew the woman’s name in return, and he knew that her tone was worried. But her gentle hands were there on his bare shoulders to calm him, and her strength was a steadying presence all around him.

He could ignore the hard thumping of his heart through his chest, because he knew Yennefer of Vengerberg was here. He knew he was safe before he even opened his eyes – to meet her unblinking purple gaze.

“Another nightmare, Jas?”

She sounded disappointed, and he read disapproval in her frown. He shook his head.

“No, not like before. It was just strange, this time.”

She pursed her lips, and he wondered if she was going to press him for details, but instead her finger traced down his cheek. She still had her dress on, he could see.

“You were muttering something while you slept. And it didn’t sound happy.”

He reached up to take her hand, and brought it to his lips for a light kiss while she stared down at him.

“I’m happy now. Now that you’re here. You and – ”

He glanced across his shoulder, suddenly aware of the coldness on his other side.

“Our witcher is away. He took his swords and went to check the surrounds. You know what he’s like.”

Jaskier nodded, returning his attention to Yenn. There was something in her gaze that felt testing – something inscrutable that he couldn’t quite read.

He squeezed her hand, and smiled just for her.

“He’ll be back soon then. Maybe I can entertain you while he’s out...”

She took her hand back from his grip, and reached out to stroke his forehead.

“I have some of my power back, Jas. Will you let me fix those bruises? Every time I see them I can only remember that dungeon cell.”

He felt the breath catch in his throat at her words, but he nodded quickly.

“Please do. How else will I charm all the ladies of Blaviken?”

She brushed his eyelids shut, but he thought he caught her smile all the same.

“I thought you had your magic lute for that.”

A slow pulse of bright purple light seeped through his eyes, warming and soothing. And with a texture that he recognised now as belonging only to her.

Her chaos.

He let himself relax utterly under her touch, watching the luminous display through his mind and wishing he could somehow meet her in that bright light.

“Yeah, but a poor bard such as me has no chaos to use it. I’ll have to settle for yours making my face pretty again.”

She said nothing to that, and with his eyes closed he assumed she must be concentrating on her work. And maybe he shouldn’t distract her or anything – she was working on his face, after all – but she seemed to be tense about something, and he didn’t want her to be so silent and serious – they were safe here now, and Geralt wouldn’t have gone far...

She should be happy like he was, and he didn’t understand why she wasn’t.

“But, you know. I’m really just glad to settle for anything, Yenn. I mean, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. You and your chaos.”

He felt her sharp intake of breath.

“You’d have been safe if I’d never brought you to Blaviken, Jas. If I’d never approached you in that tavern. All that my chaos has done is put you in harm’s way.”

He heard himself laugh, even through her purple healing light.

“If you’d never approached me in that tavern, Yenn, neither of us would be here. None of this would have happened. I’d be all on my own somewhere without you or Geralt, bitter and miserable – and alone. And it’s all thanks to you that that’s not come to pass. And – you know, I’m quite glad about it!”

He felt the purple light fading, and blinked his eyes open.

She was watching him carefully, with that same unreadable expression on her face.

He gripped her hand, where it still lay on his brow. Lest she might steal it away from him with that disapproving stare.

“Yenn, I’d spend a thousand nights in the cells of Blaviken and come away with all kinds of bruises if it meant I’d end up being here with you. With you and Geralt. You know that, don’t you?”

She said nothing in response – and there was that frown again.

He sat up with a start, keeping a close guard of her hand in his own.

“What’s wrong, Yenn? Talk to me. Please.”

She studied him a moment longer, obviously thinking through some kind of decision.

He waited for her patiently, rubbing little circles onto the skin of her hand with his fingers.

“You have such a faith in me these days, Jas. It’s very touching. But perhaps you were right the first time round.”

He frowned.

“Whatever do you mean?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe I’m not the person you want me to be. Maybe what you see now is just another illusion.”

There was something quiet in her voice, something sad. She was worried about something – he understood it at once. But what? Whatever could she have to feel bad for now, after everything that had just happened?

He pulled her hand closer to him, resting it beside the bristles on his chest. And to his relief she met his gaze when he blinked up at her.

She was listening to him – for once.

“Yenn, you have powers that I could only dream of. And I’m sure you’re capable of casting all kinds of illusions – on whoever you want, whenever you want. Maybe you cast them on me too – I don’t care. Because I know you. I know that you do what you want to do. And I can trust in that, Yenn – because you want the same things that I do. The same things that Geralt wants.”

She smiled in bitterness, as if the witcher’s name was salt in her mouth.

“No, Jaskier. You don’t understand. I _used_ you. Back in the tavern. I used you for Geralt – ”

She stopped speaking as his hand shook – as if she could feel the cold chill that now crept down his back through the skin on his hand where he still clutched hers.

And for a second, he didn’t know what to say.

He was frightened of what she might tell him. He could hear his own heart start to race in the silence stretching out between them both.

But he squeezed her hand, and saw her blink at him in surprise – but she didn’t let go of him, either.

“Then tell me, Yenn. Make me understand. What did you do?”

She shook her head.

“A spell, Jas. A spell to shift the djinn’s curse from me – onto you. That’s why I brought you to my room. That’s what I used you for. I cast a spell to make Geralt love _you_ through the djinn’s magic.”

He stared, watching her purple eyes meet his own with such bright intensity. She didn’t even try to hide from his reaction – in fact she watched his every move, as every emotion coursed through his face.

It felt like she’d slapped him – and now she was waiting for him to react. Waiting for him to be angry with her, so she could get up and leave and then justify it to herself by saying everything they’d all had was now ruined. That’s what she expected to happen here. Was that what she wanted?

He shook his head, and his words came tumbling out – still only half formed thoughts in his mind.

“Yenn, what does that mean? Doesn’t he love me? Don’t you love me?”

His voice sounded shipwrecked and marooned. It sounded far away. And those questions sounded shocking out loud, to his ears – terrible and breaking like savage crashing waves.

Suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in on him – was this how things really were, at the end of all of her illusions?

Had all of this been just a lie? A spell? All those times he’d felt she cared about him. All that time on the beach yesterday, with Geralt... had it all been just an _enchantment?_

It was just like in that horrible dream, with that strange woman. Those things that she’d told him. Fuck.

He dropped Yennefer’s hand, stung by her touch.

But her hand only moved to his bare knee where he sat on the bed. And her voice was soft and soothing.

“No, Jas. Don’t even think it. I never finished the spell. Its effects... have never even happened. The djinn’s curse has only ever been attached to me. He _loves_ you. It’s all real.”

He stared at her blankly, seeing his vision grow foggy through unshed tears.

“But... _why?”_

She grimaced.

“Because I wanted to be _free_ , Jas. And I knew that you two loved each other, so it seemed that there would be no harm in – ”

He shook his head, silencing her.

“No. I mean, why are you telling me this now?”

But Yennefer had no reply to that. He watched her fingers grip at his knee, and realised that she possibly didn’t even know herself.

Or maybe she just didn’t understand what he was asking.

He took a deep breath.

“Yenn, I’m not angry with you. I told you. I know what you’re like. And maybe if I was you, I would have done the same. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about magic. If the spell was never even finished then I don’t really care. But I need to know what you want to happen now. Why are you telling me this? Do you want _me_ to go?”

She squeezed his knee.

“No! No, I don’t want that.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Do _you_ want to go? Are you not happy here with us? Is that it?”

She shook her head.

“No, Jas. I don’t want that either.”

He closed his eyes, and released a shuddering breath.

“Good. That’s good, Yenn. I don’t want you to go anywhere. And Geralt – ”

“Geralt will be angry when he finds out, Jas. You know what he’s like.”

Her voice sounded distant, and broken.

He picked her hand up from his knee and squeezed it in front of her face in a promise.

“Well, then we just won’t tell him, will we?”

She stared at him in surprise.

“Won’t you tell him?”

He smiled grimly.

“Not if you don’t. He’ll only worry. Or he’ll get angry. Or – most likely – both. And if the spell never happened, then what’s the need for all of that? Why would he ever need to know what you _didn’t_ do?”

She studied him for a second in silence, and her purple eyes darkened. But finally – she nodded her agreement.

“Alright. I can keep the secret from him. It’s a secret he kept from me for long enough.”

And Jaskier found himself sighing in relief.

“Good. That’s... _good_ , Yenn. I don’t want to upset him – not now. I don’t want us to argue, or fight anymore. We’ve all had drama enough in Blaviken. I can’t do all that again. I don’t want any more drama.”

She nodded. Perhaps she wanted the same thing that he did.

But he had to be sure.

He shuffled closer to her on the bed.

“And... are you _happy,_ Yenn? With me? I mean, you didn’t...”

But her arms were wrapping around his shoulders, and she was leaning in closer to him. So close, that he could feel her breath on his cheek.

“You make me happy, Jaskier. I still don’t understand _why_ that should be. But still. I want to make _you_ feel good...”

She grazed her lips along his ear.

“Would you like that, right now? If I make you feel good?”

And before he could reply, that hand on his knee was sliding higher up his leg, until she was stroking him through what little he was wearing. Toying with him delicately through cotton fabric and brushing her lips against his neck.

He tried to catch her mouth with his lips, but she pulled back and smiled innocently. Her hand wandered back to his thigh.

He knew what it was that she wanted now.

And he had no desire to resist her.

He closed his eyes and reached for her shoulder.

“Please, Yenn.”

He felt her lips brush his own, and made to kiss her. But she was too quick for him, and instead she bit into the flesh of his neck – not enough to break the skin, but enough to hurt.

The groan came out from him before he could stop it. Not that he wanted to stop it. She liked to hear him performing for her. And he knew her rules off by heart by now. She would only give him more if he gave her some of what she wanted.

And what she wanted was his words. His praise. And so he whispered into her own ear.

“Make me feel good, Yenn. Please. I need you here. I need you out of those clothes, for a start. And then...”

Her hand returned to fondle him, and he forgot what he’d been about to say. But she was there to say it for him, as she pressed her lips hard against his and opened his mouth with her tongue.

And dimly, he heard her click her fingers – and then the slim fabric barrier between her hand and his stiffening cock was gone. The sensation of her skin took him entirely by surprise, and she seized her chance to push him backwards onto the bed.

“My sweet bard.”

She studied him for a second, deciding whether to keep him waiting for what he now needed – and he knew well that she could keep him waiting like this for hours – until he really was begging her for more.

But today she was merciful. In one of her more benevolent incarnations. Or maybe she was just as needful as he was himself.

She smiled and lifted his hands to her breasts, letting him feel her curves. And as she closed her eyes, her clothes disappeared – or migrated several feet through the air to instantly fall through to the floor. She was naked before him, in all her glory – her skin warm and her dark nipples hard under his touch.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she slid herself forward to meet him, taking hold of his cock with her hand.

“Fuck, Yenn, please – ”

He didn’t have any breath in his lungs to do more than whisper. He didn’t think he’d been remembering to breathe – not since her clothes had come off.

He played his fingers across her breasts, hoping to encourage her to hurry and give him what he wanted. What they both wanted – the need was coming from her too now. They’d not been together in days – not the way they’d grown used to.

They’d both stared death in the face together instead. Them, and Geralt. And her and Geralt – they’d both saved his life – though he would rather die for either of them before they could ever put themselves in danger like that again. He loved them both too much.

And he just wanted them to love him back like he did them.

As if that was possible.

“Yenn, just... I love you – _please.”_

Her purple eyes widened and she smiled. A true smile, bright and kind, and just for him.

Loving.

“Do you love me, Jas? As much as him?”

She bent down to kiss him – but her teasing had gone now. Her mouth engulfed his, and she chose that moment to slide herself down onto the tip of his cock.

He tried to jerk himself up to get deeper inside her, desperate to feel all of her – his hands fell to her hips, urging her down onto him.

“You know I do!”

She broke their kiss off, and stared at him with those purple eyes all aflame.

“Show me then, Jas.”

He could only moan incoherently as she slid herself down all around him, and all the wet heat that he’d needed was so gloriously wrapped around him that he couldn’t breathe again.

“Oh fuck, Yenn, I need you so much. I need this. Fuck – no one feels as good as you, Yenn!”

“No one?”

But the deep timbre that replied wasn’t Yennefer’s voice.

He snapped his eyes open to see Geralt stood in the bedroom doorway instead, his eyes bright and a strange half smile on his face.

He grinned at Jaskier’s shock, even as Yennefer called over her shoulder in delight.

“You’re a bit overdressed for this party, witcher. I think you’ll enjoy it more if you get those tired old rags off.”

She turned her attention back to Jaskier, and stroked a hand down his face.

“And you, bard – now you get to sing for both of us.”

She ground her hips up and down, and he had no choice but to close his eyes and groan as she took his body for her own. She ignored his wordless pleas, keeping her movements slow and smooth. Playing him like it was she who was the maestro. Teasing him. Undoing him in front of Geralt’s watchful gaze.

He felt a weight dip onto the bed, and forced his eyes open – staring right into the wide golden irises of the witcher.

Geralt had stripped off without a sound, and sat behind Yennefer with one hand brushing over her hair as she rocked her hips back and forward.

_“Geralt – ”_

He heard himself call out to the witcher, not knowing why or what for...

But Geralt seemed to know,

The witcher reached for his hand – entwining his fingers through Jaskier’s and squeezing – even as he snaked his other hand over Yennefer’s breasts.

His golden eyes seemed entranced by the pair of them. There was no anger or jealousy there – not this time. This time, the witcher’s enthusiasm was infectious. And no longer was he prepared to wait at the sidelines.

“Yenn, ease up with him.”

The sorceress ceased her grinding and leant back into a kiss with the witcher, whose hand roamed over her body and pulled her close to his chest.

Jaskier watched them embrace, all tangles of silver and black hair, power and beauty emanating from them both the like of which he couldn’t ever compare with. He loved them both so much, and they looked so perfectly and heroically gorgeous together, it was only right that they should be together and let him watch their –

He felt Geralt squeeze his hand, and saw those yellow eyes seek out his own.

“Change places with him, Yenn. I want to watch it like that.”

Yennefer murmured something under her breath, amused.

“So you’ve thought through our choreography, witcher? Did the last time give you ideas?”

The witcher only growled, impatient.

“Hmm.”

And Jaskier felt himself being pulled upwards by impossibly strong muscles, while Yennefer spread out beneath him, her purple eyes sparkling as she took in the sight of her two men undressed and together.

“Well – do go on then, Jas. Don’t keep a lady waiting.”

He wanted to say something clever to that, but Geralt’s hands were sliding over his hips and all his words died as those hungry golden eyes smothered his thoughts.

“You heard her, bard. I want to see it. I want to watch you _move.”_

Geralt was naked and his skin was hot – and he was close, so close.

Jaskier turned his back to Geralt and focused his mind on Yennefer, remembering well how pleasing she’d felt – he wanted that pleasure again, only – only this time, his body was so aware of the witcher right behind him. It made him feel weak and powerless – at this one thing that he knew he was always so good at.

It made him almost painfully aware of how hot and flushed he was.

Fuck. This was no time to be coy. This was what he’d wanted. This –

But Yenn’s cooling hands found his, and she helped him find his place – her eyes big and violet – and it was easy to slide inside her again when she moved for him. It was better than before. She felt better than before. He didn’t have to follow her rhythm this time, he could set the pace to be just how he wanted, and –

And he wanted to be inside her. Deeper and deeper.

He gasped at the warmth and heat of her.

“Show me how much you love me, Jas...”

He heard her drawling out her words and smiled for her. He took one of her hands and kissed her, letting himself smell the floral and fruity scent on her skin, and –

And Geralt’s hand was wrapping around his stomach – that hard muscled chest pressed right behind his back, and a calloused hand was sliding over his shoulders.

“Ah, Geralt – fuck!”

And the witcher’s breath was right behind his ear this time.

“Yes, Jaskier. _Fuck._ That’s what I’m going to do to both of you, right after you’ve done this. But first I want to see you both have your fun together. Before I finish with the pair of you.”

He felt himself weaken in the witcher’s arms – but Yenn’s hands pulled his hips flush with hers. It was almost as if she and Geralt were fighting over which one of them would get to keep him. Fighting dirty.

For Geralt leant over and kissed hard into his neck, breaking his rhythm with Yenn. Right at the same time that he decided to press his body hard against Jaskier’s arse, letting him feel through his skin just how ready the witcher was to make good on that promise to fuck them both.

And Yenn for her part wasn’t giving an inch.

She moaned obscenely and squeezed her muscles all around him, making him see stars.

“Oh, _fuck – ”_

But Geralt’s voice was urging him on.

“Don’t fight it, Jaskier. Give in to her. She wants it.”

“Mmm, listen to your witcher, Jas.”

“I want to watch you come inside her, Jaskier.”

“Mmm, come inside me, Jas. Do it!”

The two of them were playing him in the same direction now, and he couldn’t help himself. Not with them both like this, all around him – grinding against him, rubbing him, crooning at him to let go, begging him not to fight it...

He didn’t want to fight it.

He couldn’t.

Geralt must have sensed the tension rising within him – his grip relaxed, and Jaskier was free to take Yenn as deep as he needed, as deep as he could – and she was ready for him, groaning and squeezing and urging him to give in to her.

“Oh, _I love you – ”_

He heard his enraptured promise, but he didn’t know which of them it was for – he could feel both of their bodies so close against his as he lost control, could feel both of them encouraging him, receiving him, and they were both there with him in that moment of bliss.

Something bright and dazzling flashed through his mind, in that point of pleasure and release.

And as he swooned, those arms behind him held him up. The warm mouth was kissing at his neck again, and someone was groaning – someone that sounded just like him – but then there was a growling in his ear.

A hand, thick and calloused – skimming over the curve of his butt.

“Lie down, Jaskier. Get your singing voice back.”

Her arms were clutching him closer, and he let himself fall down beside her, resting his head on her shoulder and sliding his hand over her smooth stomach.

_“Yenn, you’re so pretty...”_

She let him hold her hand and kiss dumbly at her shoulder, while Geralt took his place between her thighs.

Jaskier could only watch, fascinated and hypnotised, as the witcher’s thick meaty finger slid inside of their woman, earning a heady groan from her throat while those amber eyes danced over her body.

“You’re all wet, Yenn.”

The witcher raised a finger to his mouth and sucked it.

“You taste like him.”

Geralt stared hungrily down at both of them, and growled.

“Let me fuck you, Yenn – let me feel you wet with him – I want to feel Jaskier’s seed all hot inside you, all over my cock while I fuck you.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew wide awake again at that.

Fuck!

How hot and slippery would Yenn would feel after Geralt had finished fucking her too? – the thought was reviving his tired mind already. Maybe she would let him fuck her another time after the witcher, and then they could take her in turns – she could keep him hard all day with her magic – and with Geralt here too...

The things the three of them could do together!

Fuck, why hadn’t he thought all this through properly before? He could have sold this whole gig to Geralt in minutes back in the tavern bedroom by that stupid mountain – and they’d never even have had to come to this town at all...

But Yenn was grinning up at the witcher. Her mind was made up.

“I think you should save yourself for Jas, Geralt. I want you to eat me. And maybe you can tell us both how good we taste while you do it.”

The witcher only grunted, seemingly pleased at her filthy suggestion.

Jaskier watched with rising interest as Geralt kissed his way up Yennefer’s thigh, snuffling his nose at the scent of her and growling at the base of his throat.

“You smell like him too, Yenn. I like you this way.”

She sighed and tensed under Jaskier’s head as Geralt reached her silky folds – the witcher was as direct as ever, and the sight of Yennefer growing restless and wanting made Jaskier forget his earlier weakness entirely.

“Mmm, I like you this way, Geralt.”

And while the witcher growled back greedily, Jaskier nuzzled a soft kiss into her neck.

“And I like watching him do this to you, Yenn. I could help him – if you want.”

She turned her purple eyes on him and grabbed his hair.

“Stay here, Jas. Kiss me.”

And so he did what he was told – kissing her gently and lightly so he could feel the way the skin on her throat and chest began to tremble as Geralt’s wet sucking sounds rose and fell.

“Yenn, gods – I bet you’d taste so good after our witcher has had you – after we’ve _both_ had you. I could write a poem, for the ages, all about the two of you... about the _three_ of us...”

He brushed his hand over her breast and squeezed her, catching her eyes before he sank his mouth to her nipple and sucked.

Her moaning came harder now, and he felt a strange thrill – of him and Geralt both working on her together, like this – both of them trying their best to get her off, and when they did...

“Mmm, that can be arranged, bard. But not now. I want our witcher to stay hard and ready... just for you.”

And as if in reply, he felt Geralt’s arm grip the inside of his knee. The touch made him gasp, and he tilted his head to stare down Yenn’s stomach at the amber eyes of the witcher.

Geralt was watching for him, and smiled in satisfaction at his reaction. But he never took his mouth away from Yennefer. He was dedicated to only her in that moment, and nothing would distract him from the task at hand. He was enjoying himself as much as Yenn was...

And as much as Jaskier was at the sight of them both.

He could feel his cock hardening again, watching the flush spread on Yenn’s face as her eyes glazed over. She was close now, and he wanted to give Geralt a helping hand to push her over that edge.

Still deliciously aware of Geralt’s grip on his knee, he sat up to plant a kiss on her mouth in between her gasps.

“I love you, Yenn.”

He returned his mouth to her breasts before she could argue, and heard Geralt growl in his throat as she arched her back.

She moaned and hissed, throwing her head back and trembling, while Geralt only licked his lips.

The purple firestorm that Jaskier had somehow expected never came, but the sorceress still squirmed and trembled. And for a moment as he watched, she was just as mortal as they were – made of flesh and feeling, full of the fire of desire – and burning with the heat of its fulfilment in her need to feel their _togetherness_ in that moment.

“Fuck Yenn, you’re beautiful.”

She smiled to herself, her eyes still closed while her lower lip wobbled.

“Gentlemen. You’re all too kind.”

She took a shuddering breath, and opened her purple eyes wide to stare at the ceiling.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve the pair of you in my life. But don’t go anywhere else. I’ve come to enjoy being cursed with you both.”

Geralt was climbing over her stomach now, shifting his weight so delicately so as not to crush her or Jaskier beneath his muscled bulk.

“No one is going anywhere, Yenn. Not the bard. Not me. Not unless we all go together, understand?”

Jaskier nodded, meeting Geralt’s eyes and staring back at Yenn.

“You know how I feel about you both. We can work this out together. All three of us.”

Jaskier felt Yenn’s hand clutch at his shoulder, and Geralt’s hand trace over his lower back. And Yennefer laughed.

It was a happy sound, with none of her usual haughty smoothness. There was an innocence there. A surprise.

“You boys have been good to me. So good. And I want you to be good to each other too.”

Her hands brushed through his hair, lingering by the back of his neck. And beside him, Geralt moved – shifting his head to rest on Yennefer’s thigh.

“Yenn, tell us what to do.”

Jaskier shivered. He already knew what Yenn had in mind – she’d told him often enough what she wanted to see, and he knew enough to know it would be him and Geralt’s pleasure to put that vision on display for her...

But she was considering. He felt her presence sweep through his mind, sensing his desires.

“I’m going to lie here. And Jaskier should look right at me while you fuck him, Geralt. I can grease him up.”

Jaskier watched as a small purple bottle appeared out of thin air at Yennefer’s fingertips.

“You don’t have any complaints, do you Jas?”

It was a struggle to get the word out – for a poet like him to express elegantly and with good diction just exactly how much he didn’t have any complaints at all about this proposed scenario.

“Uh, no... _fuck.”_

Luckily his two clever companions understood what he meant. Yenn and Geralt absolutely understood what he needed and wanted in that precise moment, and there was no need for him to speak...

Almost as if Yennefer had used her mind reading powers on him and Geralt...

Or her mind control.

And maybe she had?

After all, he’d never know any better, and –

And fuck –

It made him so hot inside to imagine her controlling him like that.

He was being made to lie on all fours, with his head on the pillow. There were gentle hands running over the bare and exposed skin of his hips, his thighs, his arse... caressing him, spreading him open for their hands to explore and unravel.

“Oh fuck me, both of you.”

He heard himself moan as someone pressed a fingertip onto his hole. And then just held it there, making him wonder if they wanted him to beg for them to touch him properly.

The finger could have belonged to Yenn, but both of his lovers’ bodies were pressed behind his and the noises behind him suggested they were kissing...

Part of him wanted to turn around and watch them – join in with them. But he was theirs now, and he couldn’t move. He was under their control now, and it was his turn to be used. He was their supplicant. Their plaything. Their disciple.

He would wait for them to do as they pleased with him.

Something cold and oily was drizzled onto the fingertip – and all around his hole. He whined in surprise at the sensation, but the finger remained steady. Still teasing him. Still making him wait.

“Hmm.”

“Jas, tell us how it feels.”

But he could only groan – as the oily finger slowly rubbed and pushed, and began to slide inside of him.

“Please – give me more.”

The finger still traced around him with a cruel delay, but he could hear another wet noise behind him now.

“You’re so tight, Jas. I don’t know how our witcher is going to fit himself inside you. There is so much of him to fit.”

“I won’t hurt you, Jas.”

“No you won’t hurt him – I have an idea.”

Their words made his head spin.

And before he could react, her finger was withdrawn – and Yennefer was rolling over onto the bed beside him, stroking her hand over his shoulders with a smile.

She reached forward and cupped his cheek.

“Will you let me look inside your mind, Jas? So I know how it feels?”

He stared over at her, startled – and intrigued – by the intimacy she was suggesting they share. He would trust her with his life – with his body and soul – after all. So what were his thoughts or feelings, after what they’d been through?

He was just surprised that she wanted to know him like this.

“Of course, Yenn. You can do anything to me.”

She smiled and leant in to kiss him on the mouth.

And the witcher’s voice came gruff.

“And what about me, Jas? What can I do to you?”

His breath caught in his throat even while Yenn’s lips were still locked against his, for two strong hands were gripping either side of his hips and lining his body up against the massive erection he could feel pressed up against his arse.

Yenn let him go, and rested a cool hand against his head. He could feel the swirl of her chaos where it touched him, tracing over the edges of his mind like a shimmering breeze.

“Fuck, Geralt. Please – fuck me. Don’t make me wait any more.”

“No. No more waiting, bard. You’re all mine now.”

And with that promise, something warm and greasy was sliding against his hole, pressing firm against his flesh and waiting for his invitation.

Geralt’s cock. Fuck.

A shudder of anticipation ran through his whole body, and Yen murmured softly beside him.

For Geralt was pushing a bit harder now, the heat rising off of him with the effort of his restraint.

And that slight press already had Jaskier on the brink of madness. The words came tumbling out of him.

“Oh Geralt, I’ve been waiting for you for so many years. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. For you to want me. For you to want to fuck me – oh please just do it. Just fuck me – ”

Behind him, Geralt groaned.

“Jas – ”

There was a pressure then, as Geralt pushed inside of him – enough for the two of them to moan and for Yenn to brush her hand against his forehead, giving him something firm and grounding to hold on to in his mind as his thoughts were engulfed by the raw sensation of the witcher’s body sliding into his.

“Take my hand, Geralt – I’ll show you what he feels.”

Her words didn’t make much sense until Jaskier felt it too – through the tingling on his forehead where her chaos began. Some link to Geralt’s mind – even as Geralt’s body was moving deep within his own – the witcher’s mind was there inside him too. All of Geralt’s feelings. His desires. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s emotions as if they were his own.

But they were not like his own – they were all Geralt. Primal and animalistic. Wild and covetous but with a powerful self-control and a calculating hesitance.

And the witcher’s mind was so full of love for him. So devoted and possessing, with a simple and unvarnished, all-consuming need...

It made his heart shudder to understand, and to see what Geralt could never say with his stunted words. To see inside the witcher’s heart and understand how much he was loved – to believe at last the truth that he’d craved for his whole adult life.

Geralt felt the same for him. Geralt _loved_ him.

And Geralt must have felt some similar connection in that moment, for he growled and thrust harder. Through Yenn’s magic, the witcher could feel what his lover felt, he could see what he wanted, and he could give him everything he needed to receive...

Jaskier saw those golden eyes staring at him in his mind. And he could not stop himself from falling into those eyes, utterly lost in that golden glow. He was babbling again – long broken sentences of his passing thoughts to Geralt and Yenn, but they could see everything in him anyway so he knew they paid his voice no heed. He was losing control of himself – of everything – of every boundary he’d ever thrown up to protect his heart from the force of how much it loved Geralt of Rivia, how much it admired Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Their simple pleasure at his undoing was all he could sense – and their desire to push him further, to break him and reform him as their own – to hear him swear those sacred lovers’ oaths to give them his heart and promise them his soul for evermore.

And he would. And he did. And they accepted his delirious offers and loved him for it – every bit as much as he loved them in return.

He could feel it all.

But along with his heart and soul there was something else he could give them too – something else that they wanted from him. His body affirmed his vows, with a surge of love and pleasure rippling through every heated part of him – his cock bursting with seed and his eyes leaking tears, and a thousand fragments of broken poetry trying to pass through his lips all at once.

And that was not all.

Geralt and Yenn could feel his climax too – they could feel everything that he could, and were capsized by the force of his pleasure as much as he was.

Fuck. It was almost too much. It was almost dangerously close to a glimpse of perfect bliss – and how would anything ever be the same again for him if he got used to pleasure such as this? If the three of them got used to such a lustful communion of love...

And ruined, the three of them collapsed in a pile-up of sweaty limbs and tangled hair on the bed, clinging on to one another and trying to catch their breath. Trying to salvage something from their spinning thoughts before Yenn drew the spell to a halt and withdrew her chaos.

“Fucking hell.”

Jaskier recognised his voice, and he recognised Yenn’s soft laughter. He recognised Geralt’s hand squeeze on his arse.

And Yenn spoke first, her voice low and teasing.

“Well gentlemen, I’m glad we could come to this understanding after all this time. I hope you two can finally see what you mean to each other – I don’t want any more trouble arising between you.”

“Hmm. Not likely. Jaskier could find trouble in an empty room.”

“Could have. I don’t have the strength to find anything right now. You two have destroyed me and all my trouble making – I might never leave this bed again.”

“Surely not, bard? I thought I might portal us into Blaviken tonight and we could go to the tavern. There must be some more trouble in the town to find, and who better than you and your magic lute to summon it for Geralt to dispatch?”

“Hmm. We need a better business model. Or else people will say that you two are a curse on their towns.”

Yennefer laughed again – harsher this time.

“Let people say whatever they want. What do we three have to care about the rest of the world? We’re free to do what we want. And we will do what we want. You’re the only two people that matter.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, listening to the laughter of his sorceress, and with the warm hand of his witcher still holding him safe and secure – untouched and unharmed by any of the horrors of the outer world that existed beyond the confines of their little love nest, and with a peace and happiness in his heart that would slay any prowling monster of the darkness that might stalk unseen in the shadows even while the sun shone bright outside.

All was well in the world for now, and when he fell asleep those dreams were bright and happy.

*** *** *** *** ***

And later, as the three friends sat on the sunlit sands and watched the tide slide out to reveal a beach studded with pearly pink sea shells, that drawing darkness stayed out of their sight.

As the bard strummed chords and sang songs of brave knights and clever princesses outwitting evil magicians and savage demons, the witcher allowed himself to be fed slices of rosy red apples from the fruit trees in the garden straight from the sorceress’ hand.

The three of the sunned themselves while the summer heat lay thick and heavy, and as the day began to wilt the sorceress portalled them into Blaviken town as promised, where they were recognised at once as those responsible for the death of the hated margrave and treated to a stream of free ales all evening.

And the bard might have played a song or two, and dedicated it to his friends with a shy smile that confirmed all those rumours swirling around the town about the witcher and his strange taste in bedfellows. Not that any of the three friends cared in the slightest. For when the bard was done and was bowing to his applause, the witcher himself came to plant a kiss on the lips of his friend, and escorted him back to the table where the sorceress wrapped her arms around both men and flashed a grin around the tavern.

And later still, when the sun had set and those three happy friends returned to the cottage by the sea and sat out under the stars drinking wine and telling stories around a campfire on the beach, they remained without a care in the world.

Each of them had walked with loneliness for long enough to never believe that a happiness like this was fated to be found. But yet here they were, and here they would stay – for a little while, at least, before destiny made its demands on them again and the wheel of the year spun ever onwards to the cooling mists of autumn.

But while the three of them were together and the summer heat was high, the darkness would keep its distance from their burning campfire.

And whether any of them noticed the soft padding approach of danger’s footsteps or not, that darkness would be waiting for them. Long after that cosy campfire had died away and the three of them had retreated into bed to enjoy each other and affirm their vows, that darkness would be watching.

For the darkness would always hate the light, and in its spiteful cruelty it would plot exactly what could be done to destroy these three and turn them against themselves, just as the watcher in their dreams had once warned.

But still – for tonight at least, the three friends were safe together. And safe in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the epilogue at the end here is a bit ominous. Hopefully not too ominous! I may have a bit more of this story to tell cos I had a ‘fun’ idea that would really set the cat among the pigeons with these 3 in a big way. But that will be a whole other story...


End file.
